


Leaving Fingerprints in the Dust on a Bowl of Rose Leaves

by Isis_McGee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Background Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Marijuana, Temporary Character Death, Terminal Illnesses, framed narrative, implied prostitution, multiple alternative universes, off screen gun violence, use of historical events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis_McGee/pseuds/Isis_McGee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas finds out that Meg is dead, he deals with his grief by telling the stories of other lives they could have lived in other universes. Those universes include one where Cas is an FBI agent and Meg a criminal, one where Cas is a traveling preacher and Meg a saloon girl in 1862, one where they're college students in 1970, one where they live an apple pie life, and one where Cas looks in on the woman Meg was before she was a demon. And those lives matter for their brief moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving Fingerprints in the Dust on a Bowl of Rose Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to the moderators of the Megstiel Big Bang 2014, of which this was a part. Also big big thanks to my artist, Ashley! There's a link to her art post before the story starts- it's great so show her some love.
> 
> Also big thanks to my beta, kate-from-nowhere over at Tumblr/ 
> 
> The reference to Sons of Anarchy is deliberate.

[Art Masterpost](http://musingsofashley.tumblr.com/post/100791048837/fic-title-leaving-fingerprints-in-the-dust-on-a)

 

Castiel smelled ozone in the Andover air. He squinted into the distance and hoped the rain would hold off. He’d never avoided a storm in Massachusetts and the sky didn’t look as though it would allow him to break that streak now. It didn’t matter though; he was in that cemetery for a reason and he would stay until his business was finished.

A stone bench, made to witness the contemplations of grieving parents, sat at the foot of the grave he’d come for. It was a double headstone, whose top bore the words ‘Beloved Daughters’; one half read ‘Marin Ashley Masters’ and the other, ‘Meg Annalie Masters.’ Cas sighed before he began to speak.

“I’m not sure why I’ve come here. This poor young woman wasn’t you. In fact, you killed her. You as good as killed her sister as well. Yet, here I sit.

“It has been a hard year. I should have been here sooner, but even now I have other commitments I should be attending to. I should be with Sam. Dean’s gone. He… He died but now he’s gone. I want to believe he is fine. The Winchesters always return, but I fear that something else has happened.”

Cas sighed and ran a hand over his face; it wasn’t his gesture, but it had seeped into his movements recently.

“I’m sorry, Meg. I am here to mourn you and instead I am mourning Dean. I’m sure you’d say that I’m whining about him, actually. I hope you would forgive me. I hope you would forgive me much. I perhaps don’t deserve it, not for waiting so long to find out that you were gone. Not for waiting so long to try to give you something of closure. Even if I know that there isn’t any for us. I owe you for many things.

“Sam told me what you said to him. That you called me your unicorn. I had no idea what that meant, but he said it meant that you loved me. I suppose that all this is to try to show you that I loved you too. It is too late now and here, but…”

Cas sat with his head bowed for a long moment before he began again.

“Do you remember our time in the hospital together? Of course you do; you were confined there with me for months. I remember it fairly fondly if I’m to be honest. You were so patient with me. In your way, I mean. You truly were beautiful. I don’t know if you knew I meant in both forms. I could always see you.

“I don’t know if you remember one night in particular at the hospital. You asked how often I was going to need to be reminded that you weren’t actually a nurse and I told you that in some world, you were a nurse. You rolled your eyes at me, but I didn’t care. I told you that there were so many worlds and many lives that you and I lived, some together, some on opposite sides of the fence and you smiled‒ in that way that you had that said you didn’t want to be smiling but you couldn’t stop yourself‒ and indulged me, told me that I’d have to tell you about them sometime.

“I never got a chance to tell you them and that’s one of the things I regret most. I glimpsed so many worlds that held so many different versions of us, many which would have amused you, I’m sure. We were just humans so often, and yet we still almost never lived normal lives. There was always some fight. In one world in particular we fought each other much like we did here. But not forever. When I looked into that world, it seemed both very like this one and immensely different. I was an FBI officer, if you can believe that. Dean was a police officer in Chicago and Sam was a lawyer. I was there because you…well, you were…”

***

“Criminal as they come: Meg Masters, Fred ‘Azazel’ Masters’ only daughter from his first marriage,” Detective Winchester said to the room when putting a mug shot onto the white board. He’d been lead on this case at the local level and it was his job to bring the feds completely up to speed. Cas was looking forward to working with such a competent officer; the last time he’d been in Chicago it’d been to oversee a case that Internal Affairs should have handled completely, but he had made friends with Dean Winchester somewhat. He tried not to let the IA fiasco make him bitter about the city and did so by focusing on the information Dean had already put up. The woman in the mug shot he’d just tacked to the board had dark brown hair waving down past her shoulders, sparkling dark eyes and a bow mouth on her heart face. She smirked like she deliberately wanted to piss off every officer who ever had to look at the photo. Cas couldn’t stop staring at it. “She’s little and she’s cute, but she’s a stone bitch. She’d slit your throat as soon as look at you. Priors include assault and possession and one colorful count of public indecency. She’s a suspect in a murder charge but we don’t have enough to make it stick yet. That makes her a weak link though.”

“How’s that?” one of Cas’ men asked.

“Meg’s proven to be loyal to her father so long as it serves her to be. There’s protection for her in being loyal, but if we can make her think her father’d abandon her to the wolves, she might roll on him for something.”

“Something?” It was the same agent‒ Uriel Sims (someone had thought it funny to put every Biblical named FBI agent on a task force together apparently) ‒ and it was clear he was skeptical about Dean’s methods.

“Azazel’s rap sheet is a mile long but again, nothing sticks. I don’t give a fuck if we have to get this fucker like they did Capone; I just want him off my city’s streets. I know you feds are here because this guy’s got a reach across this country, but I only care about Chicago. _I_ can’t go running off‒”

“Detective,” the man who’d just entered the room interrupted. He cleared his throat pointedly. Dean ran a hand over his jaw.

“Sorry, Lieutenant Singer.”  He sent an apologetic look around the room. “Point is, we wanna get this guy any way we can and Meg might be our best lead right now.” Dean looked at his lieutenant and saw him jerk his head out the door. “I’m gonna tell you all about Azazel’s charity case, Jake Talley, and his bit on the side of the moment, Ava Wilson, but I’m gonna let you go get your fill of doughnuts and coffee. And, for some reason someone in this precinct felt like being nice to you, so there’s Garrett’s popcorn back there too. If you’ve never been to Chicago, eat that and you’ll get what I’m protecting.”

Cas appreciated that the detective was trying to apologize without actually doing so. Cas ignored the offer of food, not just because he privately thought most of the foods Chicagoans seemed to take pride in were overrated, but because he’d rather review the Azazel files as thoroughly as he could. That was easier without anyone disturbing him as everyone exited the room.         

Dean hadn’t lied, Cas saw at first glance as he thumbed through the files: Azazel’s rap sheet of suspected criminal activity was extensive. There were at least six suspected murders, racketeering charges they could never prove, grand theft auto, and enough drug charges that Cas gave a low whistle. He’d seen the Bureau’s file on the man, but the local one was a sight. He’d have to change his idea of thorough or he would be staring at that one file for a year. He started skimming for highlights before sighing. According to the file, Azazel kept his operation as tight as he could. Cas picked up the next folder in the pile.

Cas found he had a more difficult time skimming Meg Masters’ file. Had he been a different sort of person, he would have looked up at the photo in the file after reading every sentence in the psych profile to try to recognize whether Meg held that capability in her eyes, but as it was, he just read on, eyebrow inching higher and higher. Cas agreed with the assessment that Dean had made ‒ Meg could probably be their way in. There’d been a fire that had killed two of the city’s most outspoken gun control advocates and Meg had been spotted leaving a meeting with one of her father’s goons, who happened to have been kept out of prison for rolling on another arsonist. There hadn’t been much of the crime scene left, but there were still samples being analyzed for residue in the backlog at the CPD lab. If anything indicated foul play, there’d be enough to bring Meg in.

“She’s a piece of work, really,” Dean said, startling Cas. “I knew her before I was a cop, actually, and she was batshit then too.”

“Her psych eval doesn’t say she’s actually insane,” Cas replied. He twisted his neck to regard Dean before closing the file. Dean shrugged a shoulder and Cas gave him his full attention.

“Not to a shrink, but she’s…” Dean trailed off, searching for the word. “A zealot. She backs her father totally. Justifies his shit with the idea of complete personal freedom.”

“That doesn’t make any sense though,” Cas frowned. Dean shook his head.

“Preaching to the already converted there, buddy. I learned personal freedom and blind loyalty aren’t exactly compatible a long time ago.”

Cas recalled some of the conversations they’d fallen into the last time he had been in town and didn’t push Dean on. As the rest of the task force assigned to the Azazel case filtered back into the room for the meeting to restart, Cas mulled over that idea and whether it would be an effective train of thought to share with a criminal they needed on their side.

*

“Lab work came back‒ someone definitely wanted the Harvelles dead and went through a time to try to make it look accidental. We’re going to release that information to the press and then bring Meg Masters in to the station in a few days for questioning,” one of the officers‒ Adam, Cas thought his name was‒ popped his head into Cas’ makeshift office to say. “Officer Winchester wanted me to tell you that.”

“Thank you, Officer Milligan.” Something jolted through Cas at that news. He’d been going through the woman’s file with a fine-toothed comb, reading into everything as if it would be a lead so he was ready to pass along all his insight to whoever would be doing the interrogating. But at the same time, as much as he was eager to finish this case and bring this organization to whatever justice it could be, he almost felt as though he’d gotten to know Meg Masters through her file and that imagined relationship would dissolve. This, of course, was not a feeling he was going to share with anyone he worked with and he pushed it from his mind.

Two days later when Dean came into Cas’ office and told him that Meg was being accompanied by officers on her way in and “you’re interrogating her,” Cas gaped at him. He didn’t have a very good track record in interrogations and he meant to tell Dean that, but he was already gone. Cas sighed and stood to prepare himself.

*

Meg Masters sat in interrogation with her hands bound like she was the one with all the power. The handcuffs didn’t faze her in the slightest and she went so far as to put her feet up on the table.

“I don’t know why they didn’t cuff your ankles too,” was the very first thing out of Cas’ mouth. Meg smirked.

“You wanna see me in more chains, fed? Kinky.”

“I don’t, actually. I’d rather see you behind bars.”

“If wishes were horses,” she mock shrugged. “I didn’t set a bomb up in that office. You know it, I know it, and everyone in this precinct knows it. And even if I did, the FBI wouldn’t be interrogating me for that, so how about you put up and tell me why I’m really here or shut up and let me go.”

Meg was exactly what Cas had expected and he nearly smiled.

“That bombing is why you’re really here. You planted the bomb that killed Ellen and Jo Harvelle according to our evidence‒”

“What evidence? That I was with Ansem Weems that day? He’s a rat and a psychopath but the man gives great head.” Cas blushed instead of finishing what she’d interrupted. She smirked at that. “Did I get stuck in an interrogation room with a prude FBI agent?” Meg laughed.

“I’m simply uninterested in Mr. Weems’ sexual prowess and if you’re uninterested in the fact that we saw you with him, you might be interested to know that we found trace evidence of the exact same chemical markup as in the Weber death he was tied to and the Gallagher fire. And he’s very aware of that as well.”

Meg remained silent for a moment, but her non-reaction was too practiced. She shrugged after a moment. “Then why not have him here and not me?”

“Who says we haven’t?”

He had no idea if Weems had been brought in because he had been burying himself in paperwork and files the entire time he’d been in Chicago. Meg arched her eyebrow at Cas and remained silent.

“Look, Ms. Masters, I understand what you do and who you are‒”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I know that you do these things because of your love for your father,” Cas continued on as though Meg hadn’t interrupted. “But I do not understand why.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with me being in this room with an FBI agent?”

“I want to help you. You’re going to be arrested for the deaths of Ellen and Jo Harvelle‒”

“Like hell I will!”

“Did you kill them hoping for your father’s approval?”

“Fuck you.”

“Because that’s not what’s going to happen, Meg. Your father is a smart man. He must be having eluded the cops for so long, and he already knows that he is tied to this through you. That could ruin his entire empire.”

“You talk like a fucking TV cop, you prick.”

“You didn’t get yourself a seal of approval from him; you got yourself a death sentence.”

Meg laid her hands flat on the table and glared at Cas. “You don’t know shit. I didn’t do this and you have no evidence I did.”

“We have enough that your father will be worried. Do you think your loyalty to him has bought his loyalty to you?”

“I think that you’re reaching because you don't have a damn thing.” Meg folded her arms up again and leaned back.

“And I think you’re probably projecting because you’re worried. I know you’ve dealt with cops enough that that little flick of your wrist isn’t out of nervousness, but because you’re lying.” Cas may not have ever had a clue what was going on with most people emotionally, but he had always done well at reading people’s habits. And, he’d been forearmed with Meg’s file. Again, Meg straightened her hands flat on the table and leaned over.

“You don’t know me at all,” she hissed. “You’re some trumped up do-gooder who thinks he can help save me from something. News flash, buddy: I'm exactly where I want to be in my life-”

“In an interrogation room?” Cas asked with a tilt of his head. Meg's eyes were venomous.

“Fuck you.” Then she sighed, “You're an idiot. How do you work for the FBI?”

“I did very well on all of my qualifying tests,” Cas shrugged.

Meg was exasperated and she looked over Cas’ shoulder at the mirrored window, knowing full well there was another agent behind it. “Get me another agent! At least give me some challenge! Or hell, give me Winchester, at least I know what I can get away with with his pretty ass.” Her eyes flicked to Cas again. “This one's cute, but he sure is dumb.”

Cas’ mouth turned down at the corners but he schooled his expression when Dean did open the door and enter the room.

“That’s enough out of your smart mouth,” Dean leveled at Meg. “You’ve always got something to say in here, don't you?”

“Isn’t that why you bring me in?”

“Shut it,” he spit. He turned. “Sorry, Cas, the boss needs to see you anyway,” Dean tried to say apologetically. Cas nodded and stood up.

Meg waved her fingers at him in a mockery of a goodbye. “Toodle-loo, _Cas_ ,” she said, sounding his name out as though it were a joke.

When Cas got to Lieutenant Singer’s office, the man scoffed and shook his head. “If Dean told you that, he just wanted you out of the interrogation room. Sorry, kid. Have you had any rest at all since you’ve been here?”

Cas hated being sent home, but he fell fast asleep as soon as he laid down.

*

The next time he saw Meg, it was incidental. There’d been very little movement on the case, and although in DC‒ where he commuted to work from a small house in the middle of nothing, Great Falls, Virginia‒ he could spend months on a slow moving case without getting restless, there was something about Chicago that robbed him of that ability. It shouldn’t have felt that much different than DC to him, but it did. It begged him to leave his short-term leased apartment and walk instead of quashing the urge down, so he did. He’d never been so thankful for listening to his body one of the few times that it actually spoke to him, because he’d gone seven blocks from his door when he saw a familiar figure, clutching her side.

“Ms. Masters?” Cas asked, walking cautiously towards her with a hand on his gun at his hip. Her head came up from where it was bent and confirmed it was indeed her. The fact that she wasn’t rolling her eyes at him or saying something demeaning gave him pause.

“If you really wanted to help me, now would be the time, Officer Krupke.”

Ignoring the misnomer, Cas asked, “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Meg shook her head but winced. “Can’t. Just… do you have a place I can stay without looking like I hightailed it to the cops?” Cas nodded. “Good, then get your hand off your gun. You’re not local; if anyone sees us, you could be anyone until they start digging.” With that declaration, Meg wormed her way under Cas’ arm and glared at him until he caught onto the charade. To anyone they passed, they’d look like lovers, not a federal agent helping a criminal stay on her own two feet as they tried not to limp back to Cas’ building. They stayed quiet for a few blocks.

“Did you walk here from fucking Evanston, what the fuck?” Meg huffed out through gritted teeth.     

“It’s only another half block.”

“Another half block with a broken rib is torture. And I’d know.”

They were quiet until they got to Cas’ studio and Meg sat gingerly on his couch. The furniture had been left by the previous tenant so he hadn’t complained, but it was clear that Meg wanted to.

“If you really have a broken rib, you should go to the hospital‒”

“A rib’ll heal on its own.”

“I know that,” Cas said sharply. Meg raised an eyebrow at him. “They can give you something for the pain. All I have is everyday painkillers. Not even extra strength. And they could cause bleeding if you have more internal injuries.”

“Jeez, doctor and a federal officer‒ what have I done to be saved?”

Cas decided to ignore her sarcasm and make her up an ice pack the best he could. He handed it to her wordlessly and sat down on his dining chair across from her.

“What happened isn’t really your business,” she started, breaking the silence. “But I’ll help you.”

Cas’ eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“I’ll pass you information about my father when I can,” she explained quietly. “I know that’s what you were after with the speech during that interrogation.” She then shot him a thunderous look. “But I’m only working with you. I don’t even want you telling the rest of your buddies until I say so, capisce?”

Cas shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Look, I’m giving you an in, you should take it.” She sighed when she saw that Cas was still shaking his head and winced when she did.

“We’ll discuss this tomorrow after you’ve had something for the pain.”

“I have to go back tomorrow or my father will come looking for me. Just let me rest for the night and I’ll tell you how this will work before I leave in the morning.”  Meg leaned her head back against the back of the couch for a moment. “I don’t care that you’re the cop, I have to be in charge of this.”

Cas nodded. It seemed to be the only way she’d cooperate and he needed that. From the pained expression on her face, she needed it too.

*

Meg was gone when Cas woke up; she’d fallen asleep after a few hours of Cas surreptitiously trying to check on her before she told him to knock it off, in much less polite terms. Cas turned over in his bed, saw she was gone, and had never hated himself more than he did at that moment. He knew that if  anyone were to ever know about his life, they’d tell him he needed to get friends since it was clear he had to have human interaction or fall prey to feeling connected to criminals he read about. He couldn’t believe that he’d had her in his apartment and trusted her. He was a much better law enforcement agent than that.

He went through his day snappish and stone faced. After two hours, anyone who didn’t have an emergency Cas was needed for avoided him. He hadn’t even seen anyone for the last three hours he was at the precinct, until as he was leaving and another one of the federal agents in Chicago with him, Henriksen, told him to “come in tomorrow with a better attitude or don’t come in.” Cas chose not to respond rather than tell him he didn’t have the authority to keep him from coming in, and left.

When he was at his apartment door, there was something off, he could feel it. One hand slid to his gun while the other keyed open his door. His gun was level with Meg’s head when the door swung open.

“Do you always open the door with your gun out?”

Cas lowered the weapon. “Why didn’t you come to the precinct today?”

She scoffed. “I told you I’m only working with you.”

“Why? That’s not how this works. We can’t protect you if this is all you’re going‒”

“Do you want the information I have or not?” Meg demanded. Cas fell silent and waited. “That’s what I thought. Don’t forget who has the power here, Krupke.”

“I could have you arrested for breaking and entering for being in my apartment, Ms. Masters, so don’t you forget who has the power.” Cas’ voice was hard. Meg’s lips quirked into a smirk.

“Maybe you’re not as spineless as I thought.”

“Ms. Masters‒”

“Stop calling me that. It’s just Meg. I don’t want there to be a chance someone hears you.” Cas nodded his understanding and then waved a hand indicating for her to go on. “What you should be doing is looking at the finances of a woman named Maxine Anderson.”

Cas scrunched his brow. “Why? What does that have to do with your father?”

Meg sighed and she put a hand on her hip when she stood up. “She’s Talley’s mother. Paying for her is how he keeps Talley on his side.”

“What good will that do us?”

Meg rolled her eyes and moved to breeze past Cas and out the door. Cas stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and she looked at him as though he’d shocked her. She was warm under his hand.  He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“That’s all I can give you right now. Use it if you can, don’t if you can’t, it doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“But‒”

“Leave it, Krupke. I’ll be back when there’s something I can give you without giving myself away.”

Meg was already out the door when Cas called after her. “Why are you doing this?” Meg turned and looked at him over her leather-clad shoulder. Even Cas, with his usually low emotional intelligence could see the defensiveness in her eyes, but there was something else another person may have identified as hurt.

“I have my reasons, alright?” She smirked before turning away. She called back to him as she kept walking, “A girl’s gotta have secrets doesn’t she?”

Cas wouldn’t have known how to respond even had she been standing right in front of him.

***

“And that’s what it is like in that world for a while. You‒ that version of you, I mean‒ come to me‒ that me, of course‒ every so often with information. Sometimes you have injuries, sometimes you have new suspicions on your records, but you always have information. I pass it on and some of it is useful and some of it isn’t and I’m always asked to give up my source but something stops me. Perhaps it’s the fact that you begin to stay in my apartment longer and longer and that I find myself laughing with you about the littlest things. I can’t stop myself from thinking that we’re friends. One night you go so far as to invite yourself to my takeout and tell me that the spring rolls are your fee for giving us information. It seems like it would be a good night until…”

***

“That information is pivotal in the case we’re building against Ruby Marks.”

“You’re going after Ruby with that information?” Meg demanded, her fork stopping half way to her mouth. Cas nodded around his beef lo mein. “Not Lilith?”

“The information on Lilith told us she’s just the figure head, that Ruby’s the real brains of that branch of the business,” Cas explained. He took an eggroll from the white paper bag they’d been stuffed into, dipping it in duck sauce. Meg let her fork clatter to her plate.

“Are you trying to get me killed?”

“What?”

“Lilith is sloppy‒ she’s the figurehead so she can take the fall for Ruby’s schemes. Going after Ruby will give me away completely. No one else would have had information that could lead to that.”

Cas squinted at Meg. “If Lilith is so sloppy, then in theory, it shouldn’t have been difficult for anyone to find that information.”

“Not the Holt accounts. Those are the only ones not intentionally sloppy. You can’t go after Ruby with those. You have to just go after Lilith.”

“We can’t. The case is already being put together.”

Meg stared at Cas in disbelief. “Then take it apart!” Cas shook his head. “Then my father’s going to know it was me. He’s going to come after me and I am going to die.” Meg stood up from the table and went to retrieve her coat. “So much for helping me, huh?”

That snapped Cas into action and he had a hand on her wrist, before he knew it. She shook him off but didn’t move away because of the look in his eyes.

“We can protect you, Meg. Let us go through the proper channels and we can protect you,” Cas pleaded.

“Why? If you can go after Ruby, you can go after my father so you don’t need me anymore.”

“You think that I don’t still want to protect you?” Cas asked, completely puzzled. Meg looked disbelieving, which confused Cas even further. When Cas’ face didn’t change, Meg’s did. It softened until it turned into a small smirk.

“And why would that be?” Cas opened his mouth to respond, but something seemed to get caught in his throat. Meg’s smirk widened. “Are you sweet on me, Krupke?”

Cas sputtered and automatically began to say ‘no, of course not, I would want to protect anyone because it is my job’ but stopped himself. When he thought about it, perhaps he did have feelings growing for Meg. He did worry about her and he found himself looking forward to seeing her and disappointed when she did not show up. He didn’t mind the way she’d lounge around his apartment as though it were hers and he’d wound up watching _West Side Story_ on TV the other day, smiling every time Officer Krupke was mentioned, because it reminded him of her. He’d spent so long without a love life or any sort of personal life really, that he hadn’t noticed one sneaking back in. As his brain processed all this rapidly, he felt himself blushing slightly.

“Aw, you are, aren’t you?” Meg teased.

“I do care about you, Meg,” Cas answered, refusing to be embarrassed. He looked her in the eye.

“Shit, I didn’t think you’d admit it,” she muttered. She didn’t look quite as sure of herself, glancing at her feet before meeting Cas’ eyes. “Why?”

Cas cocked his head at the question. “Do I need to have a reason?”

“Yes,” Meg replied without hesitating. When Cas asked why, she simply stared at him until he began to fidget.

“I…” Cas started and trailed off. He couldn’t explain that he’d read her file and saw what she’d lived through and had understood how she was drawn into her father’s life even after she’d been old enough to know better. He certainly couldn’t explain to himself how he managed to consider this woman a friend when he’d seen the things she’d done in the name of family loyalty. He couldn’t explain to her that she might be the best part of his days of tedium. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a fucking terrible answer,” she said.

“I know. No matter what, I do want to help protect you.”

“You probably can’t,” Meg told him. “But hey, let’s bang a few gongs on the way out, huh?”

“Wha‒” Cas started to ask, but he was cut off by the kiss she planted on him. It took him by too much surprise to be any good and after a moment, Meg pulled back. Cas could see that she was going to say something about it and some reserve of pride that he had caused him to take hold of her waist and rearrange them against the door as he took control of the next kiss.

Meg opened her mouth at the first touch of Cas’ tongue to her lips and at the slide of their tongues together and the feel of Meg’s hand worming its way under his shirt to his lower ribs, Cas moaned and gripped her tighter. The kiss continued and as their tongues and hands began to explore each other further, Meg’s leg came up and wrapped around Cas. Her hips bucked forward to inform Cas of just how interested his body was in what was going on and it was him that pulled back.

“Oh, no, Krupke,” she panted. “You can’t get a girl’s motor running like that and back out.” She pushed him backwards until he landed seated on the bed and she could straddle him. She took her shirt off and Cas’ eyes went to her breasts; how had he not noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra the entire night? “They’re nice, aren’t they?”

“Meg, no,” he started. “I mean, yes, yes they are but, we can’t‒”

“Why not? We’re consenting adults, right? You seem very interested; or at least, parts of you do,” she said as she let her hand trail down to the bulge in his pants. She didn’t do anything; just let the heat of her hand seep through.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in a very long time. Probably longer than I should admit but…”

“Cas,” she said, surprising him by the use of his real name. “I really don’t care. I’ll remind you how it goes.” She leaned down and kissed him again, but didn’t let it continue as long as it had before. “That is if you want.”

Cas looked at Meg and there was no question really. “Yes. Yes, I want.”

His hands went to her back and pulled her down on top of him as he lie back, and they were kissing again. Meg’s lips moved to his neck, trailing up until she could nip at his earlobe. Her hips ground down as he bucked up and it felt electric

After a moment, Meg slipped a hand down her own back pocket and set the condom she pulled out on the bedside table. She gave Cas only a moment to glance at it before she recaptured his mouth in a kiss and started to unbutton his pants. They detached so they could get rid of his shirt and Cas’ fingers caressed Meg’s back. His pants were undone and Meg reached down to wrap her hand around Cas’ dick; when she did, his back arched off the bed. He expected ridicule at the extreme reaction, but she locked eyes with him. She slid her hand off of him just to work her pants off. But as she went to slip off her panties as well, Cas brought a hand up to stop her before letting it drop to her backside.

Their kissing was slow and sensual and the way their bodies undulated against each other made the apartment seem much warmer than it was. With every move that Meg made to speed things up, Cas slowed them down until eventually she settled into the pace. He touched every part of her with reverence; every fading bruise, every scar from small nicks to deep injuries, every place that she kept covered up, he touched as though it were precious. The touches were so tender that Meg had to look away when she pulled away from his mouth to breathe.

“Please look at me,” Cas asked quietly. When she did, he told her, “You are very beautiful.”

Meg’s only response was to lay a hand against Cas’ cheek and dip down to kiss him again. He took the opportunity to flip them, gently laying her down on her back. He moved his mouth from her lips to her neck to her breasts, his tongue flicking out to her nipples in turn, to her stomach. His hands went to her panties and he inched them down, Meg raising her hips to let him divest her of them.

He pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs before moving his mouth to her sex and tasting her. Meg whimpered when his lips found her clit, not tonguing at her but just putting light pressure against the bundle of nerves. He moved further down and licked a stripe from where his tongue had dipped into her entrance up to her clit. Meg mewled as he continued to lick, varying the speed and pressure, and moaned around her sex. As he kept on, Meg’s hands found their way to the back of his head and tangled in his already messy hair. He suckled at her clit and she rocked her hips up, needing him to put more pressure against her. He sucked harder and poked his tongue against her and she kept rocking up, moving her hips quickly, trying to bring herself off against him. She whined when she was right on the edge.

“I need you inside me,” Meg panted at Cas. “Now.” Cas, instead of stopping and sliding back up her body to get the condom on, kept up his ministrations on her clit and took one of his hands off her thigh to slide two fingers into her heat and crook them up as he thrust. She groaned out and thrust her hips up again, and again, and with the continually increasing pressure against her clit and the slide of his fingers, she felt her walls contract as she came. Cas didn’t stop until she tugged at his hair to pull him away.

They caught eyes and Cas moved back up her body. He set to kissing her neck and Meg flailed out a hand to get the condom off the table.

“Please.”

Cas fumbled with the condom a moment before rolling it on and pushing into her. He swiveled his hips, grinding his pelvis against her still sensitive clit and thrust into her. Meg clutched at his back as he gathered her closer to him and rolled them around so she was on top again. His hands fell to caressing her hips and her legs and his eyes never left her face even as she set a faster pace than they’d been going all night and her hands went to her own nipples. The headboard hit against the wall, but the only sounds they made were breathy moans, until Cas yanked Meg down to get his mouth on hers as he bucked up quickly. She was close again, but Cas was coming, hips rising sharply off the bed and his mouth falling open in a silent gasp.  Meg kept rocking down until she went over the edge again.

She collapsed next to Cas a moment after and both of their chests heaved, but they couldn’t stop looking at each other. A moment of silence decorated by their heavy breathing passed before Meg had to look away. It was only brief and then she turned back to Cas again.

“Not half bad for not having done that in a long time,” she joked. Cas tried not to smile. Meg tried to sit up, but Cas put a hand on her wrist. It felt incredibly intimate.

“Please stay. We’ll figure out how to protect you tomorrow.”

Meg didn’t even make a show of protesting, just nodded and lie back down and let Cas wrap her in his arms.

*

She was there when he woke up, standing in his kitchen area with his white button down on.

“You haven’t got shit for breakfast food, Krupke,” she told him when his feet hit the floor. “We’ll have to make do with the Chinese we didn’t get around to really eating last night.”

“There’ll be donuts at the station,” Cas said automatically. Meg shut the refrigerator door abruptly. “We need to do this the right way now, Meg. Come clean. I told you we will be able to protect you.”

Meg walked back towards him and began to gather up her clothes. She took Cas’ shirt off and got into them and Cas couldn’t tell what her attitude was at all.

“You’re not going to be able to help me,” Meg shrugged. “I told you, last night was me getting some last kicks before I’m dead.” She shrugged on her coat and said, “But I’ll humor you.”

Meg insisted on riding in the back seat of his car, after of course taking him to task for having such a crappy ride with a government job, and ducking down the whole way there. Cas had a difficult time reconciling her willingness to feed him information and the extreme level of fear she was showing about being caught. She snuck into the precinct so quickly that Cas didn’t even see her do it.  He walked into a scene of Meg shaking the hold Dean had on her wrist off.

“What are you doing here, Masters?”

“Officer Winchester,” Cas said. Dean looked over with a demanding look on his face.

He then looked back and forth between Meg and Cas and the look morphed completely. “Aw, you gotta be kidding me? She’s where you’ve been getting your information from? C’mon, Cas, I thought you were just doing solid police work. Instead you've been hiding an informant?”

“He did it on my terms or I didn’t do it. His willingness to overlook the rules is what’s landed you the cases you’re making against half my father’s organization, so back off, Winchester.” Cas was taken aback by the vehemence in Meg’s defense of him and apparently, so was Dean. He held up his hands in defense.

“But we need to protect her now,” Cas explained. “Going after Ruby will tip Azazel off.”

“You want witness protection? We can dye your hair blonde, give you a new life?” Dean asked skeptically. Cas wondered at the skepticism but vaguely recalled that Dean had known Meg before.

She shook her head. “Won’t matter. He’ll find me.”

“That’s the best we can do. Send you to California with a good dye job and a name like Dawn Trager. Or keep you under lock and key here forever‒”

“I can’t stay here in the precinct unless you arrest me and you know that’ll make him suspicious,” Meg interrupted. She took a deep breath and her face was screwed up in resigned distaste. “Then get me a new life if you can’t just wipe out my father’s organization.” She threw up her hands. “It would’ve been so much easier to turn traitor by going to Naomi’s family instead of the cops.”

Dean glared at her. Meg just rolled her eyes.

“Fine. I’ve gotta run this by Singer first and I’ll try to rush this through.”

Dean was walking away when Meg called out, “Dawn’s good, but better go with Smith or something. And send me to Montana. Always wanted to be a rancher’s widow.”

***

“Incidentally, there is a world in which your name is Dawn Trager. She’s you still, somehow. You lived in California, but you’re killed in the prime of your life, for the sins of your father. I won’t go into detail how. It was a very unpleasant world, for most people involved, and I spent little time there.

“You are set to be Dawn Anderson in this world but first…”

***

Meg told them she wanted to stay until she at least knew for sure that she’d be able to go through witness protection, which meant she and Cas sat together in his office while they waited. Meg had looked at the agent he occasionally shared the office with and told her “get out” without hesitation. Hannah had looked up offended, but complied when she saw the apologetic look on Cas’ face.  She’d muttered “just this once” to Cas as she passed by him.

“Did you mean what you said in the car?” Cas hadn’t really meant to ask, but there it was. It’d been in the back of his mind all morning.

“Huh?” Meg asked.

“I know that you’d said it last night too, but I thought‒”

“Said what last night, Krupke?”

“That you wanted to bang a few gongs. Earlier you said you knew last night was just last time kicks,” Cas’ voice remained steady despite the conversation topic.  Meg wrinkled her nose in what might have been disbelief.

“Are you offended?”

Cas shook his head. “No, just confused. It had felt like something more.” Meg huffed, but Cas looked at her sharply. “And I know that I’m not terribly good at reading people, but it felt like it meant something more to you too, Meg.”

She pursed her lips but dropped her arms from their crossed position. She looked around the room with a sigh before meeting Cas’ eyes.

“It doesn’t matter what it meant, does it? I’m either dead or well, dead, gone off to be Dawn Anderson of south of nowhere, Montana, in a matter of weeks if I’m lucky.” Cas’ eyes implored her to go on though. “But if it will make you feel better, yeah. It felt like more. Maybe in another life, we could be more. But here we are.”

Cas nodded and crossed the room to lean against his desk next to her. Neither spoke, but they noticed how close their hands were on the desk. In a moment Cas felt Meg’s pinky against his and slowly they entwined their hands together.  They sat there in silence, occasionally glancing at each other and Cas didn’t think or worry about work, just about whether or not the woman at his side would be alright.

***

“I  wish that that is where that world stopped, with us, together, figuring out how to continue on without ever actually having to move on, but it doesn’t. We eventually have to leave that room the same way we left the hospital.

“We screwed up, there, not going through the proper channels for you to give me information. You don’t qualify as a witness who needs protection, not fast enough that we can get you out of the state in time. The police won’t put a stay on the case building against Ruby either, so you were right. Azazel can put the evidence together.

“I’ll give you the short version because there are many details I wasn’t able to stomach when I glanced into that world and the ending of our relationship is one of them. It ends because you’re killed there. Your father hires an outside man to do it. It’s that universe’s Crowley.

“He’s never brought to justice, because Sam’s hired as his defense lawyer. He has to take the cases he’s assigned, and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to be winning but…

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I am defending that Sam to you. I perhaps shouldn’t defend the real Sam to you either, after the fact that he tried to cure Crowley and they’ve let him go on…

“That Meg lived a hard life and it ended so abruptly. But she was meant to be a good person, in her own way. The same way you were.

“There’s one world in particular where that’s also especially true. Where you are dealt a terrible hand and you handle it the best way you can. You’re successful in your own way. You’re very successful considering you’re a woman in 1862 Texas. You’re a saloon girl and you save my life…”

***

Reverend Castiel Milton had been in Texas for only two days and had just arrived in Westton that day. He’d been in Gainesville the previous night and hadn’t known how long it would take him to get to his destination. He’d arrived just in time to beat the rush on the saloon in town, which seemed to be his only option for dinner that night. His travels had been long, all the way from Missouri, and before he could tend to finding himself a proper place to stay for the week he was needed, he had wanted to find himself a meal.

All Reverend Michael had told him when he left St. Louis was that Westton needed hands to build a church and Castiel had gone. He would go looking for a Father Gabriel, whom he had been told was in charge, the next morning after he had gotten some sleep and recharged himself. Right then, all he wanted to do was eat the meal of ground chuck and beans that the saloon’s owner, a gruff old cowboy by the name of Bobby who carried a gun on either hip, had told him was the only fare. Castiel had paid the man and asked for the nearest water pump. Bobby had stared and poured him a glass of beer; Castiel hadn’t thought it wise to refuse.

So he sat, and he watched as the saloon filled up with the townspeople. There was a game of dice that struck up not even two minutes after Castiel had arrived, and there were a few women who wandered down from the upstairs once that game had begun. Their skirts were dusty and Castiel tried to avoid seeing how their corsets pushed their bosoms up to the point that they nearly fell out of the necklines of their dresses, but he could see that they were all pretty girls, with an array of coloring. A few minutes later, a foursome of men gathered at a table in the corner and started a game of poker. Castiel saw the flash of a few dully colored skirts meander over to the new group. He watched as a petite blond gave a kiss to a sandy haired, freckled man’s cheek and told him “for luck.”

The saloon was filling up and Castiel took it as an opportunity to watch the citizens of this town. He was, after all, there to build a church that would help these people, and there was no better place to see what sort of help these people would need. Men who wandered in went straight to Bobby at the bar and shot back bourbon or rye, with a few of them taking glasses of beer back to tables with them. Every man was gambling, and when his eyes weren’t glued on his dice or his cards, they were on the saloon’s girls. Castiel frowned as he watched a man pinch the backside of one of the redheaded women. One of the women, one with dark hair that had a slight curl and slightly rounder cheeks than the other brunette in Castiel’s line of sight, saw Castiel’s frown. She frowned back at him and he was taken aback. Even worse when the frown turned into a raised eyebrow.

Castiel looked away first and took another bite of his food. He felt, rather than saw, a shadow block the candle light that was illuminating his meal. Castiel looked up.

“How come you’re not drinkin’ that beer, stranger?” the man asked him. He was tall‒ a little taller than Castiel would be if he were standing‒ with a mustache and beard peppered with gray. His voice was nasal when he spoke.  Castile straightened further and hoped that the man, and his friends who were gathered loosely around them, would notice the collar he wore.

“My profession begs that I not partake in alcohol, sir,” Castiel answered when it seemed that the man was still expecting an answer. He smiled slightly before he spoke again. “Not unless it’s the sacrament.”

“Well we need your table, padre,” another man in the group said. Castiel brought a hand up to gesture at the rest of the table, not correcting the fact that he was not a Catholic priest, and therefore not actually a ‘padre.’

“By all means, sit. I won’t disturb you as I finish my meal.” The nasal voiced man spared a glance at his friends before jerking his head slightly to show that they should sit down. The five of them fit at the table without a fuss. Castiel continued to eat his meal as one of the men began to shuffle a deck of playing cards. It was difficult for Castiel not to be fascinated by the group of men who had no qualms about striking up a game of poker for money with a preacher at their table. He watched them play a few hands before his brow furrowed. The man who had dealt first‒ a man balding with neat tufts of white hair at the side of his head and a booming voice‒ had picked up Castiel’s untouched beer. It didn’t bother Castiel in the slightest, but he could see that, along with that, the man was cheating.

“You’ll want to re-deal,” he said after a moment of observation. All four of the men turned to look at Castiel, who sat with a neutral expression on his face. The cheating man’s lips whitened and pursed together. Castiel nodded at him, “I believe that one of your playing cards fell onto your lap.”

The man back up, the chair scraping against the floor, and he stood quickly. “Are you calling me a cheat?”

“Well‒”

“You’re calling my friend a cheat? Now, that’s not very nice, is it?” the nasally man said. All four of the men were starting to stand up then and Castiel saw all of their fingers stretching and closing, itching to wrap around a weapon. He shook his head and raised a hand, but it wasn’t enough. One had a hand on the handle of a knife and Castiel began to scoot his chair back. He didn’t have to after a moment.  One minute he was staring at a group of angry men, the next those same men had laps full of skirts.

The woman who had frowned at Castiel had a hand on the nasally man’s shoulder, and other women were pawing at the rest.

“Now, Alistair,” the woman was saying. “There’s no reason for all that. Not on a priest. Not here at Bobby’s.” He voice was soothing, but the man‒ Alistair‒ seemed skeptical. “A man of the cloth will get what’s coming to him some other way.”

Alistair smirked at that and he snaked a hand up into the woman’s hair. The grip allowed him to pull her down into a plundering kiss and Castiel took that as his cue to leave. He would try to avoid Alistair and the rest of his crew while he was in town. As he was getting up to walk away, he saw a flick of the woman’s wrist behind her, signaling to Castiel that yes, he should go now, or he’d risk something he’d rather avoid.

He left the saloon, and as he mounted his horse, he thought that there was at least one person in the town worth saving, even if she might be a disreputable woman.

*

There was no Father Gabriel in Westton according to every single soul that Castiel asked. There had been at one point, but he had left some time ago.  And somehow, the man had gotten his church built. Castiel felt rather stupid for having made the trip for a man of another faith only to find that his help was not needed.  The woman who ran the house he was renting a room in had shrugged apologetically at him when she had to tell him that there was already a church on the outskirts of town. Castiel had thanked her and asked if there were any place he could get a meal. She’d nodded and sent him back to the saloon he’d been in the night before.

“Or the general store to buy your food to make. Bobby’s the only one staying open all the time though.”

Castiel had nodded in understanding and left to return to the saloon. When he entered, he was one of two men there. The sandy blond who Cas had seen playing poker the night before and getting on with one of the women was asleep with his boots up on a chair in the corner. Behind the bar was the same brunette who had kept him from being killed.

“Back so soon, Father?” she asked, more than a hint of judgment in her voice.

“I’m not Catholic,” was Castiel’s response as he sat down at a stool by the bar. The woman raised her eyebrows. “I’m not a Father. Just a preacher.”

“Either way,” she shrugged.

“I was told this is the only establishment in which I can get a meal right now.” The woman nodded. “I also wanted to thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, preacher.”

“My name is Castiel. So you don’t always have to call me by my title.”               

“I go by Meg,” she told him. She set two glass bottles on the bar counter. “There’s a pump out back if you want water. Fill ‘em both if you would. I’ll make you up a plate of eggs.”

“Thank you, Miss Meg,” Castiel said. He took hold of the bottles and heard Meg snort out a laugh.

“No one’s called me Miss in a long while. Just Meg is fine.” Castiel nodded at her and stood up to go pump the bottles full. When Castiel reentered the saloon, Meg was in the kitchen, but the other man was waking up. He dropped his feet onto the floor and looked around bleary eyed.

“Are you alright, sir?” Castiel asked.

“’m’fine,” he let out gruffly. “You drinking all that water there, preacher? Be mighty fine of you to pass a bottle over.” Castiel handed one to him and the man gulped some down. He let out a sound of contentment after he wiped his mouth. He then looked back at Castiel before his eyes darted around again. “Where the hell’s Jo?”

“Who?”

“We do have homes to go to,” Meg answered. She had two plates of scrambled eggs in her hand. They were small portions, but Castiel was glad at the prospect of food. The way the other man stood up seemed to say he was as well. “Jo doesn’t live to serve you.”

“Course not,” he said. “Girl’s too much of a pistol to serve anyone. Only lot of you that’s any good at being kind to a man is that other blonde one. The rest of you are rotten to the core.”

“Then maybe stop coming around, Dean. Your brother does just fine staying out most nights.” Dean waved a hand at that and began to shovel eggs into his mouth. Castiel opened his to reprimand Dean and it was obviously clear on his face because Dean swallowed and spoke up again.

“Don’t listen to a word I’m sayin’, preacher. Just a rodeo rider talkin’ cruel, but I can’t stay away from any of them.” Dean put a foot on the lower rail of the bar and leaned over the counter to lay a kiss on Meg’s cheek but she pushed him gently away. “You’re breakin’ my heart, Meg.”

“Oh, no, we all know Jo’s put a claim on you. And even if she hadn’t, you don’t get to call the shots with kissing me. No man does.” Dean smirked and Meg turned away from him to address Castiel. “You sure you wanna stay in this town when all your meals are going to come from such a place of ill repute and loose morals?”

“You saved my life; I hardly think that I could condemn you,” Castiel responded.

“You might if you knew what I did to distract Alistair from his knives,” Meg said. Castiel blushed a little and that made Meg smile. She had a sweet smile. Castiel then cleared his throat.

“I probably won’t be staying in this town either way. I was only here to assist in a job that’s already done. I plan on going to see this church your previous clergyman raised, see if I can assist your new one in any way, and rest for a few days before heading on.”

“No new clergy here. All you’ll find is an empty church that’s begging to get its pretty glass windows stolen to be melted down to scrap,” Dean scoffed. Castiel frowned at that news. He pushed his now empty plate away from him.

“I’d like to see it even more then,” Castiel said. “Can you tell me directions?”

Dean shrugged out a “sure.”

“Go with him,” Meg said. Dean gave her a look and she looked imperious. “Just go with him, Winchester. Get out of Bobby’s bar for a few hours.”

“Alright, then come on,” Dean said as he got up. He was halfway out the door when Meg spoke to Castiel.

“If you come back tonight, you ask for Anna if I’m not here. She grew up religious and she’ll make sure you’re treated right by the rest of them in here.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you.” She just nodded back and picked up the plates he and Dean had used.

*

The church was simple, but it was lovely. The stained glass windows depicted abstractions from the bible: angel wings made in glittering gold and azure, the light of heaven shining down onto the world, transparent doves bringing messages of peace, the cross sparkling in a kaleidoscope of color. Dust motes swirled through the rainbows of light. Dean didn’t seem impressed by it.

“No offense, but God’s never done all that much for me in my book.”

Castiel just spared him a quick glance before looking around the church in fondness more. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”  The pews and the pulpit were the same wood as the walls and they were sanded down well, but they were nothing special. Castiel still ran a hand over the back of one pew. Dean remained quiet while Castiel contemplated. The door to the church creaked open and Dean spun quickly around while Castiel turned slowly. The newcomer’s eyes landed on Castiel.

“I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t know anyone was‒ Dean? What are you doing in church?”

There was no resemblance between the two men in looks, but they stood the same and even Castiel, who had never had siblings, could see the familiarity of the two that screamed out ‘brother.’

“I haven’t converted to the faithful, Sammy, don’t get your hopes up,” Dean shrugged. Sam didn’t seem surprised and was ready to move on; he walked toward Castiel with his hand out.

“Hello, Father. I’m so glad to meet you. Sam Winchester,” he started. “Thank you for being here.”

“Hello, Sam. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not here to stay. I’m also just a Reverend, not a Father. Reverend Castiel Milton.” Another man might be sick of making that distinction, but Castiel smiled softly when he took Sam’s hand and shook it.

“You’re not here to stay?” Castiel shook his head in answer. “May I ask how long you are staying? Will you be staying to give a service Sunday at least?”

“I was here only to help with the raising of the church and your Father Gabriel clearly accomplished that on his own,” Castiel explained. He watched Sam’s face fall even further. “Truthfully, that’s mostly what I do. I’ve only ever acted as junior reverend for those who need help.”

Sam’s eyes lit slightly and Castiel was momentarily confused. Sam had his in. “But we’re those who need help, Reverend. Father Gabriel has been gone for a long while now and this town needs guidance, spiritual and moral. We have no one to lead us in God’s love now. There are many who would follow though.” Sam spared a glance at Dean and his mouth quirked up a little. “Even if my brother wouldn’t.”

Castiel hesitated, but he found himself nodding that he would stay for a while when Sam asked with a sincere ‘please.’

***

“Sam asked me to stay there, but it had been a long time in Reverend Castiel Milton’s life that anyone had worried about him and shown him kindness the way you had in that world. You helped that decision be made easier.

“So I do stay. I eat my evening meal at the saloon every night and I end up fading into the corner, observing the townspeople after that. I watch you. You’re beautiful, and you make every man want you but it’s clear that you only want some of them. There are nights that you catch my eye as though worried I am disappointed in your behavior. In that world, I probably should be, but I’m not.

“Even after I have begun to give services in that simple church, and the congregation begins to grow slowly from the few people Sam has with him to some of the people I observe drinking in the saloon Saturday nights, you are still the most caring person I know there. Everyone else sees me as useful there, but you seem to think of me as a friend. Someone you care about just for who I am and not my use, since you’re not attending church services. Sometimes I feel that that was true when you were alive here too. Although I know that’s not fair.

“It is easy to be with you in that world, no matter our circumstances.”

***

“Reverend, don’t people find it a little odd that you’re spending so much time around a common saloon whore?” Meg asked one morning after Castiel had been there for over a month and he had come in for breakfast again. Castiel screwed up his face. “What? Your delicate sensibilities are offended by the word but not the fact that you see me leave with men?”

“I’m offended only that you would think of yourself that way. You do much more for this place than that and you are far from common.”

Meg smiled. “You’re a very odd preacher.”

He took a sip of his water. “I’ve seen enough of the world to know what this allows you to do‒”

“I’ll take power where I can get it,” Meg confirmed with a nod.

Castiel nodded slightly in acknowledgment and continued: “And I’ve told you before that I cannot condemn you for your actions, since you saved my life.”

“I remember. But you haven’t even given me a lecture about my wicked ways or shamed me for not covering up. You haven’t tried to change me at all. Not like most clergymen in this town when they find us girls here at Bobby’s.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side and set his fork down on top of his plate. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “Do you believe in God, Meg?”

“I have a faith, yes,” she answered. The look on her face said she dared Castiel to doubt her. He didn’t.

“Then you have nothing to be condemned for. You have faith, and that is what God asks of us.” Castiel took another drink of his water and looked at Meg almost apologetically. “He may ask us to share that faith and proclaim it more than you might do, but you do have faith.”

Meg snorted quietly. She looked at Castiel pityingly as she spoke. “Rev, no one wants me to proclaim their faith. Not when they know who I am Saturday nights. A few Sundays of sharing church doesn’t negate what else I’ve shared before.”

“Perhaps we can change their minds,” Castiel suggested.

“Perhaps you’d get run out of town for allowing me in your church.”

“It’s a risk I’ll take if I have to.” At that, Meg turned sharply from where she’d been looking at the bottles on the shelf to look at Castiel. His face was mild and unconcerned but Meg was searching it nonetheless. She kept looking at him though her face softened.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

But Sunday after Sunday, Meg was not in his flock. He didn’t begrudge her staying away; he’d understood what she hadn’t come right out and said. But he also understood that he had gotten her to think about herself as well.

Castiel was still spending time at the saloon‒ not quite as much, since he’d begun to know more of the town and was invited to dine with people who attended his services frequently, but still enough‒ and he saw how Meg’s behavior changed. Where the other women, Jess and Ruby and Abby and Jo and Anna and Lisa, all acted exactly the same way as they had those months ago when Castiel had first arrived in Westton, Meg did not. She flirted, smiled and winked, and her tongue was still sharp and she was still quick to protect someone if she thought they needed it, but Cas never saw her thread her fingers through a man’s and lead him upstairs anymore. Her skirt‒ whether it was red or purple that night‒ still showed as much of her shapely leg, and she still showed as much of her bosom, but she never leaned over a man and kissed the anger from him. Castiel hadn’t seen her do anything other than dance and pour a drink and flirt for a while before he brought it up to her.

“I know what you’re doing.” His hand was on her wrist and she gently removed it.

“My job, you mean?”

“But you’re not,” he said. “Not all of what I understood to be your job.”

“Are you looking to buy, Reverend?” Meg shot at him. Castiel colored and then went white as a ghost.

“That wasn’t what I was implying at all, Meg. At all,” he protested. Meg looked guilty. Castiel did as well. “I meant only that while it’s admirable, I told you that God only needs you to have faith. If you’re repentant about your sins, the sins you commit to survive, then‒”

“I’m not not sleeping with men because of God,” Meg breathed out. She laid her hand on Castiel’s arm, so lightly that Castiel would have missed it had he not seen it. “It just feels like it’d be being unfaithful to someone else.”

She glanced up at Castiel’s face and could see the revelation as it hit him. She left him alone with his bottle of water and she went back to her work. He was gone before he could see her look back at him.

But he was back the very next morning and he started without preamble.

“It would be unfaithful of me as well. To be with you, I mean.” He stumbled over his words.

“I didn’t say it to ask for anything,” Meg shrugged. “I just thought you should know.”

“I’m glad I do,” he said. They regarded each other for a moment and then Meg rolled her eyes.

“Sit down then and have some breakfast.”

Castiel grinned at her.

*

That next Sunday, nearly five months after Castiel had arrived in Westton, Meg showed up at service. There were audible gasps from people who were already in their seats and Meg glared with an arched eyebrow at everyone who began whispering about her appearance. No one who had ever worked for Bobby had ever gone to a church service in their town, and members of that congregation had been there enough to know who those people were. They knew what Meg did and there was a tension about her presence that lanced through the church. The only person it didn’t hit was Castiel. He simply gave her a small smile and nodded to an open seat in the second row. Meg sat and crossed her legs at her ankles and Castiel waited as a few more people entered the church and then began his service.

Castiel was the first person to shake Meg’s hand during the sharing of the peace and it didn’t seem to matter to Meg that the only other person who worked up the nerve to do so was Sam Winchester. Castiel caught her eye throughout his sermon and he was glad for her presence. He told her that when she was the last person in the church and he threaded their hands together and squeezed.

***

“The people of Westton, which does not exist in this world, get used to you being in that church. But they unfortunately don’t have to for long.

“Since you’ve stopped sleeping with men at Bobby’s, you quickly run out of money. I tell you that you can stay in the Church for free and you do. It works well for a few weeks, but then it doesn’t. There’s a robbery‒ Dean told me the first time we met there that it was a place begging to be robbed and he wasn’t wrong. There’s a robbery at the Church and you try to stop it, but you’re killed. I leave town soon after that. I can’t bear to be around it without you. Your life there was short and difficult, even with moments of brightness.

“But still, there are other worlds where you have a better life, at least for a while. There’s no criminal father you try to please, you have choices, and you have your causes to fight for. In 1970, Ohio, there are many causes you want to fight for, and apparently, some of them manifest in class discussions. We’re college students, Meg, and we have fun. Or, you have fun, and teach me too, as well.”

***

The heat was on too high in the classroom and Cas could feel the sweat tickling the back of his neck. He also thought his face must be red, but he wasn’t sure if that was from the heat or the argument he was in.

“You don’t think Nietzsche was right? Seriously?”

“Just because it’s Nietzsche doesn’t mean he was right about everything‒”

Meg snorted a laugh and recovered quickly enough to take advantage of Cas being interrupted by it. “No, of course not, but, damn, him saying ‘God is Dead’ is one of the things almost everyone agrees is right.”

“It is not‒”

“More people worship Clapton than they do God anymore, Milton, just admit it. If you told the average person that God had returned to save the world, they’d be interested for a minute and then go back to their TV dinners and Brady Bunch as soon as you left.”

“Hey, man, Clapton _is_ God,” one of the other students spoke up. Meg smirked and Cas glared.

“Shut it, Gallagher,” Cas snapped. He turned back to Meg, never glancing at Professor Shurley to see if he wanted the conversation to stop. “That doesn’t mean that God is dead, it means He’s being ignored.”

“That’s the same thing. God only exists because people have thought him up. I hate to break your little Christian heart or whatever, but he’s not real. Ignoring him is killing him.”

Cas threw his hands up and sat back. Meg shrugged at his response. “That’s just unnecessary and rude,” Cas grumbled.

“Oh, please. There are so many other real things we need to be worrying about. You don’t think that what’s happening in Vietnam is proof that your God isn’t paying attention to us? Don’t you think instead of talking about all this theoretical philosophy, we need to be discussing the real world implications of those ideas in such a tumultuous time?”

Cas’ glare softened, but only a little. It seemed like the entire class was waiting for their professor to jump in and when he didn’t, Meg turned on him.

“Seriously, doc, if you think we need to be talking about Nietzsche shouldn’t we talk about how his Ubermench idea is basically Nazism?”

“Well, that’s not strictly true,” Doctor Shurley began to stutter out.

“No, she’s right,” Jake Talley spoke up. “Maybe not Nazism, but there’s a way to read that as backing the discrimination that occurs in the world. And I’d much rather talk about the ways that people responded to that than what it means.”

Meg raised a hand in a gesture to Jake. “Thank you.”

“Oh, I ain’t saying it for you. I’m saying it because we’ve been reading a lot of dead white guys who haven’t got a hold of what it’s really like here in the real world.”

“Yes, but those ideas still matter,” Cas jumped back in.

“How?” Meg demanded. Before Cas could answer, the alarm that Professor Shurley used to signal the end of class went off. He taught again in 20 minutes across campus, so they never went over time.  He waved a hand in goodbye as he hurried from the room. The rest of the class was packing up as well. Meg smirked at Cas again. “Lucky you.”

“Yes, lucky me,” Cas said. He was shoving his book and notebook back into his bag. He straightened up and looked Meg in the eye and he continued. “I still believe in something. I’m sorry you don’t.”

Cas felt satisfaction course through him at the look on Meg’s face as he turned and walked out of the classroom.

“Hey!” he heard behind him. Meg was walking quickly to catch up to him on the quad. Cas stopped and turned. She scowled at him. “I’ve been calling you since you got out of the classroom, man, what gives?”

Cas shook his head in apology. “Honestly, I didn’t hear you. Is there something you need?”

 “I just wanted to tell you that I do believe in something.”

“Okay?” Cas adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

Meg shifted on her feet and she looked more unsure of herself than she’d ever been in the philosophy class they shared. “I just thought you should know, I guess.”

“Alright,” Cas said slowly. Before Meg could turn away, he found the courage to ask “Why?”

Meg looked taken aback and her cheeks flushed as pink as the rosebuds printed on her cropped peasant top Cas could see under her unbuttoned jacket. She looked down at where the tips of her shoes poked out from the hem of her jeans. Cas felt less like a square at her embarrassment but still tried not to think about how different they must have looked to anyone watching them talk to each other.

“Because what I do believe in is important,” Meg said when she recovered her confidence. Cas wasn’t sure why she ever lost it and he was even less sure of how to respond. Thankfully, Meg didn’t wait for him to respond. “I’ll see you in class Monday,” she said and turned away.

“Yeah, see you,” Cas said hesitantly, almost hoping she couldn’t hear him as she was walking away.  She glanced over her shoulder at him though, so he knew his luck wasn’t that good. 

He started to wander back to his campus apartment after that in almost a daze. He didn’t understand why Meg had come running after him; today hadn’t even been the first time they’d gotten into an argument in class. With the way she railed against the ideas brought up by the books they’d read, Cas hadn’t ever really understood why she was even taking a philosophy class. Cas shook his head a little and told himself not to worry about it and not concern himself with Meg.

However, that was difficult to do; he spent most of the walk trying to figure out how he would have responded to her question had he had the time to in class, and when he at the corner of his street, there was a table set up with a number of women in front of it, including Meg. “KENT STATE NOW MEMBERS” the banner across the table read in navy and gold. “March for the ERA in August!” it proclaimed in smaller writing.

“Hey, do you believe in equal rights for women?” a woman with bright orange hair asked when he accidentally caught her eye as he was trying to read the rest of the slogans painted on the banners. He opened his mouth to speak and heard Meg instead.

“Charlie, I got him. He’s in my philosophy class,” Meg said stepping toward them. The redhead, Charlie apparently, gave a small smile to Meg and one that almost looked like a threat to Cas before sending a megawatt grin at a blonde girl in a jean jacket that had the initials GLF scrawled in permanent marker across the sleeve.

“Yes,” Cas said. Meg quirked an eyebrow up. Cas explained, “Yes, I believe in equal rights for women. Who doesn’t?”

“Well look at that, straight laced Ward Cleaver might have some radical in him after all.”

Cas bristled. “There’s nothing radical about thinking people ought to be treated fairly.”

Meg’s eyebrows flew up and Cas winced at how harsh his voice had sounded. When Meg’s brows came down from her hairline slightly, her mouth turned down in an impressed look. “Sorry, Milton, didn’t know.”

“I apologize for how that sounded,” he said, holding a hand out for a flier. “I can take a flyer, but I am sure that my parents wouldn’t allow me to go to Washington DC to help protest.” He glanced at the pink sheet of paper and folded it to put in his bag. But he couldn’t seem to stop his mouth from continuing on. “They’ll be mad enough at me already.”

“Aren’t you a senior?” Meg asked. Cas shook his head in a non-answer.

“I signed up to double major. Need some extra time. Haven’t told my parents at all yet.”

“Well, Mommy and Daddy oughta be happy their son’s here and not in the south pacific,” Meg almost rolled her eyes as she said it.

“They would be happy, but my brother, Michael, is there,” Cas said. Meg’s expression completely changed.

“Oh, my god, Castiel, I am so sorry,” Meg told him. She reached behind her and set her fliers down. “When did he get drafted?”

“He didn’t,” Cas shrugged. He knew exactly what Meg’s going to think when he continued, but he at least suddenly got why he’d wanted to argue with her today in class; it must have been building up in him. “He wanted to serve his country.”

Cas fully expected Meg to start up on a rant against that idea‒ what was happening in Vietnam wasn’t serving the country, there were so many more things that would serve this country‒ but her mouth just formed a silent “oh.” They simply stood there looking at each other for a moment again, and Cas started to shift on his feet; it was incredibly awkward.

“Well,” she broke the silence between them. She reached behind her and took a few more fliers and shoved them at Cas. “Even if you wouldn’t be able to march with us, maybe you could hand these out? So many people take this more seriously when it’s a guy telling them about it.” Her tone was bitter, which seemed more normal for her.

Cas nodded. “I can do that. I’m gonna go now, then,” he said with a point of his hand at the building two doors away. Meg looked back.

“I live there too. Weird.” Cas nodded again and his brain was screaming for him to move because, seriously, he didn’t understand why being around Meg was getting more awkward by the second. He started to walk by her and toward the entrance of the building when he heard her say “We should walk to class Monday.”

Cas found himself agreeing without thinking about it, but he found himself stopping on the platform between floors 3 and 4 wondering what the hell had gotten into him. He’d agreed to walk to class with a woman whose views he mostly didn’t share and whose attitude he didn’t like, but more than that, the fact that he’d made plans with someone outside of the theology department was odd. Cas spent more time with his books and his records than he did with people; that’s how he wanted it, that’s why he’d moved out of the dorms as soon as he possibly could. But apparently, Meg was difficult to say no to.

***

“That is true in every universe, I think. It is a good thing in this college world though.”

***

On Monday, when he had all but forgotten about the half-laid plans of companionship, Cas stepped into the foyer of the apartment building and saw Meg lounging there in maroon, white pinstriped pants that flared out wide. The looked like they might be men’s and Cas was struck by the fact that he liked them. He’d never liked the striped pants that seemed to be overwhelmingly popular, but these he did, both on Meg and as prospective things he could wear. He restrained himself from asking where she got them. When she stood up as he approached, she was two inches taller than she had been Wednesday when he’d seen her last. She certainly dressed with her times, and once again, Cas felt self-conscious about his rather formal looking clothes. He nodded at her in hello and remained silent as they left the building.

“Hypothetical question for you,” she said. Cas raised an eyebrow and looked at her but nodded for her to go on. “I know you believe in god and all that kinda crap, but if you didn’t, if you were like the rest of the great unwashed masses, who would you think was god?”

“I feel like there were a number of insults built into that question,” Cas responded.

Meg shrugged. “Hypothetical insults if you will.”

“Why?”

“Well, they weren’t really; they were pretty straight forward hidden insults‒”

“No, why do you want to know who I’d act like was god? Which is a nonsensical question, you know,” Cas pointed out.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Meg asked. When Cas didn’t answer, she went on. “I don’t get you. I don’t get anything about you. You’re like, not even real. You’re like an angel to my demon or something.”

“Why do you care though?” Cas almost wanted to stop walking so he could stare and demand an answer.

“Angel didn’t cover that for you?” Cas just waited for her to keep going. She sighed. “I don’t really know, I just do. I mean, nobody’s this straight laced. Maybe Ward Cleaver, but no real people. And I actually saw you get mad in class Wednesday, so now I need to know.”

Cas still had no idea what she meant, but he went along with it. They went on walking for a moment before Meg grabbed his shoulder and spin him around. “So, who would you treat like god, if not god?”

Before he answered, he looked into Meg’s eyes and saw they were slightly bloodshot. “Are you stoned?” he demanded.

Meg laughed a little, “Only a little bit, but yeah. Why you got more?” which was a strange thing to ask someone you just called straight-laced. Cas for his part just titled his head to the side in confusion.

“No, of course not,” Cas told her. Meg nodded, resigned. Cas sighed and brushed a hand across his face. They were silent again as they started walking once more. They’d barely gone ten steps before Meg was speaking again.

“So, seriously, who? Jimmy Page? Kerouac? LBJ? Who’d be your god if not capital-G, God?”

Cas heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. Perhaps Paul McCartney.”

“Get out,” Meg laughed. “I never would have taken you for a Beatles fan. Are you already dying for a new album?”

“Not particularly.” Cas could hear Meg’s questioning gaze practically. He went on to explain. “I haven’t been crazy about any of their albums since _Rubber Soul_ , to be honest.”

“Are you kidding me? Not _Magical Mystery Tour? Revolver?_ More importantly, no _Abbey Road?”_ she demanded.

Cas shrugged. “I haven’t listened to _Abbey Road_ since I didn’t like the last ones.” Cas’ hands came up, palms open towards Meg as he explained, “I like pop music. Harmonies, rhythms that are easy to follow. They got…”

“Drugged out and experimental?” Meg supplied. Cas nodded. “That’s the best part. I mean, I get that _Revolver_ ’s not your style, but the A- side of _Abbey Road_ is solid pop music. The B-side gets a little more groovy, but you want harmonies? Come on, Milton, you’ve got to give it a shot.”

Cas looked at Meg quizzically. She seemed dead set on him hearing this album and, despite her “angel” explanation, he did not understand why she was so interested in him.  But he still found himself nodding an “alright”

“Did you finish the reading for this week’s assignment?” Cas asked, trying to bring the conversation back to what seemed like more normal ground for him. Meg nodded.

“Schopenhauer might be the most depressing thing we’ve read so far,” she said. “I mean, yeah there’s a lot of stuff that’s the pits, but I’m not sure this is the worst of all possible worlds. Leibniz isn’t going to be right next week either though.”

Cas was shaking his head and Meg waited patiently for him to argue with her. “This being the worst of all possible worlds isn’t depressing though.”

“What?”

“It’s incredibly optimistic. If this is the worst world there is,” Cas explained as he pushed open the door to the building their class was in and let Meg walk in front of him, “then it can only get better. Things can improve, whether through some other agent or through us.” He had no idea how passionate he sounded as he trotted out that theory until he saw the look of almost awe on Meg’s face. He blushed.

“So if this is the worst possible world, then all the fighting to change it can actually help?”

“Exactly,” Cas exclaimed, his embarrassment ignored. Meg was smiling and Cas couldn’t help but find it infectious. She nudged his arm with her elbow in a way that was entirely too familiar, but he didn’t mind.

“Makes having something to believe in worth it then, huh?”

***

“You have such conviction in that world, and such loyalty, and I know that those qualities are yours in every world, but those traits shine so brightly there in Ohio when you take me under your wing. There’s no reason for you to do so, but you do.

“You give me another class period to get used to the idea of us being friendly with each other. You agree with me in discussion and you fit yourself into my schedule to be around the apartment building far more than you ever had been before. I don’t understand why.

“There are times when I‒ that Cas, of course‒ catches his Meg looking irredeemably sad, but it is never when you know I can see you. You’re always lit up with passion when you know someone is watching and you’re always trying to either change the world or have a good time when you’re near someone. I don’t know how to ask about the sadness for a while, but it does not matter. We become friends.

“You invite me to listen to all the albums I told you I didn’t like. I still don’t like them and you call me a philistine. Yet, I don’t think the real you probably liked The Beatles. I believe that I do.

“But you also invite me to listen to _Abbey Road,_ which…”

***

“You’ll really like if you give it a chance. It’s not as conceptual as the rest of them, promise.”

Cas looked skeptical, but he remained silent. He watched Meg slide the vinyl out of its sleeve and place in on the player and drop the needle. She turned and smiled just as the bass came through the speakers. Her head was nodding along to the beat as she walked back to the overstuffed blue and yellow zigzagged couch. Cas could feel Meg looking at him as he made faces at the lyrics of the song.

“Okay,” Meg admitted when Cas finally shot her a look. “This might not be your favorite, but you can’t argue with a bass-line like this. Just give the album a try, alright?” Cas didn’t say anything but sank farther back into the couch. Meg started to smile more softly as the song wound down and Cas wondered why until the first few notes of the second song began. It was so much different than the opening song, and so beautiful in Cas’ mind; it was the first later Beatles song that he found himself actively enjoying. Meg opened her mouth to say something when the guitar solo began but Cas shook his head. Meg obliged and remained quiet until the song came to a close.

“That was beautiful,” Cas enthused. “I know I said Paul McCartney might be my god under other circumstances, but George Harrison can write some‒”

“You’re missing the start of the story of this song,” Meg interrupted. Cas looked chastised and his ears perked up to catch the lyrics. When it got to the chorus and Cas seemed to be personally affronted by the story, Meg laughed and tried to return to the previous conversation. “You’re right. Harrison has had a few beauties.”

Cas nodded absently. After a moment he spoke. “I like this one better without listening to the words.” Meg agreed and she swung her foot in time to the music. It wobbled the whole couch and Cas found himself tapping his fingers along as well.

“Now this,” Cas said with a happy point, when ‘Oh! Darling’ came on. “This feels like _my_ Beatles. The evolution of what they were.”

“This feels like it needs to be louder,” was Meg’s response and she got up again to adjust the volume. It suddenly felt even more like McCartney was shouting but Cas found he didn’t mind when Meg started singing along and he minded even less when the next song was an incredibly peppy tune. Cas didn’t even care about the almost nonsensical lyrics about octopus. Meg was still standing. “You dance at all, Cleaver?” she asked in a shout over the music. Cas didn’t know how to respond. Meg herself began to dance, not waiting for Cas to reply.

Meg danced as though she was carefree, not worrying about what steps she should take or what dances were popular at all. Her toes dug into the carpet in a move similar to the twist one moment and the next she waved her arms as though she was swimming and the bangles on her wrist chimed together. Cas found himself laughing and Meg grinned back before grabbing one of his hands and pulling him up.

“I don’t like looking stupid by myself,” Meg said in a falsely defensive tone.

“You don’t look stupid at all,” Cas told her as he tried to mirror her moves. He felt stupid, though, but Meg just twisted her lips up and tried to correct his elbows, saying he moved too stiffly.

“You’d be better at this with a beer in you, probably,” Meg laughed as Cas tried not to trip over the bells of his pants. He didn’t understand how Meg walked around in her elephant bell bottomed pants she sometimes wore without tripping over her own two feet. Cas nodded and Meg went to her fridge just as the song was winding down.  She’d popped the tabs on two cans of Miller Light and when she walked back to where Cas was standing nearly stock still, there was a swing in her hips that was much more sensual than her dancing had been. Meg remained oblivious to Cas’ awkwardness as she shoved a can into his hands, clinked their cans and took a sip. Cas took a gulp of his own beer as Meg started to dance again, her eyes closing and her hips winding and her hands going above her hands as the Beatles wailed “she’s so heavy!”

It wasn’t that Cas hadn’t noticed Meg was beautiful, and it wasn’t even that he wanted her, no matter what the song might have been singing, it was just that he’d never seen a woman dance that way. It felt very near to indecency to him, but he was determined not to show it. Meg wasn’t looking at him, too caught up in her dance, but he felt the need to move any way. Or at least, to try not to stare. He took another gulp of his beer and he tried to unglue his feet from the floor and unstick his hips from where they locked up and dance along to the build-up of the record. He’d just begun to hesitantly move his shoulders and dip his head when the music cut off. He looked up abruptly and Meg nodded.

“It fools me every time too,” she told him.  She moved toward the record player and flipped the vinyl. Looking over her shoulder at Cas, she jerked her chin at the couch. “You’ll probably wanna sit for the B-side.”

Cas padded back to the couch, thankful Meg hadn’t noticed his reaction to the last song and cocked his head when he heard the music start up again. The melody was lovely, crisp and happy and the lyrics about the sun felt as hopeful as the tune. Cas was the one to try to speak and get stopped then. Meg shook her head and pointed a finger at the record player. There was a slight gap between the first and second song and during it Meg instructed Cas not to talk during the medley, to just let it wash over him.

So he did. He listened to the songs soar from unearthly harmonies, to tambourine backed silliness, to catchy guitar riffs and piano laden quick masterpieces. It wasn’t the easy pop music he’d fallen in love with the Beatles for, but he felt it stir something in him deeply, for completely different reasons. Meg let the record spin, the speakers popping every few seconds for a moment.

“Worth listening all the way through, yeah?”

“Yes,” Cas told her without hesitation. She grinned at him when she got up to take the record off.

***

“That’s the moment when we are truly friends in that universe. That’s the moment things change between us. I’m very grateful for the Beatles.”

***

April came quickly and brought with it couples popping up out of nowhere; Cas had objectively known that that happened every year on the campus, but he’d never noticed it quite as acutely as he did that year when he’d been spending most of his time with Meg. It didn’t change anything; Meg rolled her eyes at the couples they passed on the quad between classes, the ones where the boys had an acoustic guitar and tried to sing James Taylor to their girls, and Cas couldn’t help but do so too. Things were good.

Until the Friday that Cas pounded on Meg’s apartment door.

“Hold your horses, Cleaver,” Meg shouted, knowing who it was. She opened the door and crossed her arms. Cas took one look at her face and he knew.

“You heard?”

“That your boy Paul McCartney is leaving the Beatles, effectively breaking up the band? Yeah, I heard.” Cas strove by Meg and flopped down onto her couch. He’d loosened up considerably since they’d gotten so close. It was hard not to feel comfortable around someone who’d listened to you whine about your family and who you’d heard cry over a friends’ war injuries.

***

“I found out the reason you looked so sad sometimes is that that you was friends with Sam and Dean. Dean was in Vietnam. He came back with brain damage and severe PTSD.”

***

Cas let out a sigh. Meg moved toward the fridge to get him a beer and he made a sound equivalent to “no.”

“Beer won’t help right now,” Cas mourned.

“Jeez, you’re acting like you got dumped. The records are still there, man.”

“I know,” Cas nodded. He looked at Meg and mentally wrung his hands. “I just feel… betrayed. I said he’d be my god and he’s the one that leaves.”

Meg laughed but quieted herself when she saw the look on Cas’ face. “Don’t be overdramatic. You’ve still got your actual God.” She stood by her counter and looked at Cas, waiting for him to respond in some way. When he didn’t, she straightened up, a glint appearing in her eye. “Alright, Cleaver, if you’re so sad, time to perk you up some. And corrupt you even further.”

Before Cas could ask what she meant, Meg went to her bookshelf and pulled out a box that sat between her copy of _The Feminine Mystique_ and _Howl_. She came back to sit on the couch and flipped the lid of the box open. Cas gasped. Meg rolled her eyes.

“We’re gonna get high.”

“Meg, I’m not‒”

“Oh, come on. Live a little. It’s not gonna hurt, we’re gonna stay right here and I’ll put on _Abbey Road_ and we’ll eat peanut butter sandwiches and it’ll be fun. Promise.”

Cas couldn’t protest any more before Meg took the drugs and the pipe out of the box. He watched her with a strange fascination as she picked apart the buds and packed the bowl. She rooted around the box for a lighter and handed him both the white Bic and the blue pipe. He looked up at her shocked and she chuckled. She got up and put the record on, the volume low, and returned immediately.

“You put your thumb over this hole and light the weed and just suck in. Actually suck the smoke in though, okay? Don’t be a square about it. You got it?” Cas nodded. “Good. You‒”

But Cas was already moving. He may have put up some resistance to the idea of smoking at first, but truthfully, it was a show. He’d wanted to try it for a while; he’d never felt as safe with anyone the way he did with Meg.

It took him a moment to get the lighter to stay lit, and a moment longer to ignite the pot, but he got it and sucked the smoke in. Cas inhaled and immediately coughed. His throat _burned_ ; he would have sworn his entire respiratory system burned from the one puff. He was aware that Meg was laughing at him as she took the pipe out of his hands. Cas tried to glare at her, but it was difficult when he could not stop coughing. He was getting a grip on himself just as Meg inhaled. He counted in his head, his lips moving unconsciously. Meg blew the smoke out, directly at him, after six seconds. The smoke set Cas coughing again and Meg was laughing then Meg was coughing and they both were cracking up within moments, their laughter drowning out the music.

“You’re such a virgin, Cas,” Meg shot at him. She brought the pipe to her lips and lit the bowl again.

“I am, yes,” Cas responded. Meg’s laughter made the smoke escape her mouth. She pushed the pipe at him and he inhaled again, but less. He coughed still. Meg’s hand was near his to take the pipe back and he saw that she was looking at him with a question mark in her eyes.

“Do you feel stoned already?”

“I feel very light. My skin might also be vibrating,” Cas allowed. Meg shook her head. She was taking another toke, so Cas listened to his skin hum. It felt louder than the record. When Meg spoke, it actually startled him.

“Calm down, man, you’re alright. I promise, everything’s the same. My hippie protestor ways won’t rub off on you with one toke,” she smirked. Cas shook his head.

“I wish they would. I’m…” Cas started. He huffed out a deep breath. He hadn’t expected to feel this introspective. “I’m 22 years old and I’m afraid to tell my parents I’m planning on staying an extra semester to get a double major. You’ve probably never been afraid of any authority.”

Meg set the pipe down in the box next to her and shook her head at Cas. She was moving across the room to turn the speaker volume up as she spoke “Don’t say it like that. Don’t make me into some kind of _hero_ ,” she said, sneering out the last word. “I just found a cause and I’m serving it. Mine happens to be using my critical thinking skills to take down the dickbags who run this country,” she shrugged. She ended up plopping down on the floor next to the speaker so she could adjust as necessary.

“I’ve never had a cause. Not one that I ever chose myself, at least,” Cas admitted. “And I’m more upset about a band breaking up than I should be.”

“Oh, great, a maudlin stoner. Cheer up. You’ve got time to figure it out. Nice thing about being so young is we get more time.”

***

“Of course, hearing this story, you know how wrong that version of was then. You told me the ending to every movie I watched in the hospital, even if you hadn’t seen it. My disappointment amused you so I forgive you that.

“We never have as much time, even if we had always expected to live forever. I hadn’t understood how much humans must live with their mortality until I had to experience it. I think perhaps it’s been better to think we were immortal. But I digress.

“We were both ‘stoned’ there in your apartment with its colorful curtains and sofa pattern and it is fun.

“There are worlds where drugs get the better of both of us, where we meet trying to recover from addictions but I’m not strong enough and die during relapse. However, in this world, that’s not the case at all. In this world, we’re having fun and that’s it. As I said, we were in your apartment…”

***

Cas scooted across the floor to sit next to Meg and drop his head on her shoulder. She threw a questioning glance at him but he ignored it.

“I’m sorry about Dr. Shurley’s class.” Cas was looking up at Meg, seeing mostly her jawline and cheek and partly up her nose. Meg tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “That we didn’t get along at first.” Meg shrugged, jostling Cas’ head.

“It’s past. We’re getting along just fine now.” She heard Cas murmur his assent. “You think you can take another hit?” Cas looked hesitant, but Meg smiled. “We’ll do a shotgun; it’ll be fun.”

Cas acquiesced and straightened up as Meg picked up the pipe and the lighter again. She looked over at Cas and a small smile played at her lips.

“Do you know what a shotgun is, Cas?” Cas shook his head completely shamelessly, but Meg laughed. He didn’t look embarrassed. “Alright, well, since we’re using a pipe and not smoking a joint, here’s how this is gonna work, you square. I’m gonna take a hit and after I keep the smoke in my lungs a second, I’m going to blow it into your mouth. Don’t you dare try to kiss me though, Milton.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it until you said that,” Cas mused. Meg snorted and lit the pipe. Cas watched the smoke get sucked through the blue stem and into Meg’s mouth. After a few seconds, her hand came up and grabbed the back of Cas’ neck, bringing his face millimeters from hers. Her lips puckered up and Cas mirrored her expression, trying as hard as he could to fight instinct and close the gap. He sucked the smoke she exhaled into his own lungs and held. He had no idea if it worked or not, but as he held the smoke in, he was very aware of the music playing. They must have spent longer smoking than he had thought, because the record was already playing the last song on the a-side. He could feel the thrumming of the bass and the build-up of the guitar chord progression before the lyrics started. He exhaled when Lennon sang “I want you.”

Cas’ hands went to his own knees and he scratched at them lightly. He heard Meg laugh again and he glimpsed her smiling face and dark hair. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he didn’t know whether or not he could get it to work, but he wanted to tell Meg how remarkable she was. Instead, what he did was hum along to the song, the vibrations from his vocal chords seemingly going through him completely. He leaned his head against Meg’s shoulder again and felt her begin to stroke her fingers through his hair. He practically purred at the contact.

“Do you want that sandwich?” Meg asked, her voice much closer than Cas had anticipated.

“Do you have jelly as well?” He felt Meg shake her head. “Then no thank you. Peanut butter on its own is too sticky.”

The last part of that had been mumbled into Meg’s shoulder and she giggled. “Talking too hard for you, Cleaver?” Cas nodded. She nudged him. “Go sit on the couch and I’ll get you some water.”

It felt like it took Cas ages to get to the couch. He tried to stand up, but his legs tingled when he did and he would be grateful later for the fact that Meg didn’t laugh at him when he ended up crawling, at a snail’s pace, to the couch and hoisting himself up. As it was, he felt like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Is marijuana always like this?” he asked. It felt like he was shouting, but Meg asked him to repeat himself. After he did, Meg shook her head.

“It’s pretty intense your first time because it’s new, and I’m sure for you it’s a trip, but it mellows out after a couple times. If you maybe ever had any fun you’d be used to being high in any sense.”

Cas didn’t respond because he was too busy feeling as though he were becoming one with the couch, in the best way possible. He didn’t say anything until Meg was making the cushions dip as she sat down. The glass of water she put in his hand was cold and felt so heavy. He managed to take a drink and it tasted amazing.

“Even water is better,” he wondered. He felt the vibrations of her laughter through the couch.

He didn’t know how much time passed before Meg got up and flipped the record that had been popping statically. Cas couldn’t bring himself to say anything as ‘Here Comes the Sun’ started to play. In fact, he didn’t say anything the entire side of the record. When Meg turned to say something to him, she saw his breathing had evened out. She rolled her eyes a little, but her face softened. He’d have a terrible crick in his neck if he stayed that way though, so she shook his leg a little. His eyes opened only a slit.

“Go sleep in the bed,” she instructed. “And you don’t have to keep those polyester nightmares of a pair of pants on if you don’t want.”

Cas felt stoned enough that he did lose his pants as he shuffled toward the queen sized bed in the corner. He was asleep before he even pulled the covers back over himself. He barely heard the whisper of “good night” Meg gave him.

*

When Cas opened his eyes again, the sky was the cerulean only the moments before the sun broke above the horizon could be. He’d never slept so long or so soundly in his entire life. As he turned to look out the window in hopes of catching the first glimpse of the dawn, his eyes got stuck on the woman in bed next to him. Meg’s face was untroubled, her brow smooth and her mouth open just slightly. Her hair splayed out against her pillow. Cas felt the sides of his mouth lift into a small smile before he knew it. Their closeness, and the fact that the strap of Meg’s tank top was slipping off her shoulder, didn’t bother Cas at all, he was surprised to find.  The sun rose and Cas was still looking at Meg as he was when she awoke.

“Quit staring, Cleaver,” she muttered.  She stretched her arms behind her back and her chest up with a groan before she looked at Cas. He hadn’t heeded her request. “Seriously, what do you want?”

Cas looked at the way the light hit Meg’s pale skin and spoke, “You, I think.”

She rolled her eyes before Cas could act upon his revelation. “Put up or shut up.”

So Cas did. He leaned down and pressed his lips softly against Meg’s, just briefly before pulling back with a question in his eyes. Meg answered him by craning her neck up to kiss him again and bringing one of her hands to her neck and pulling him down.  Cas blushed at the feel of her breasts through the thin layers of cotton they were both wearing.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Meg teased. Cas raised himself up enough to glare at her at a better angle and she laughed. “I’m a modern woman, Cas. I take the pill and have sex with who I want to have sex with. If you’re not comfortable with that, then this needs to stop.”

“You’re not embarrassed at all?” Cas asked. Meg shook her head.

“Why should I be? Sex is fun and, since I’m sure it makes you feel better, I do like you. A lot, actually.”

“It does make me feel better,” Cas said. Meg rolled her eyes again.

“Good, so shut up and kiss me again,” she said, wrapping a hand in the collar of his t-shirt and yanking him down. The kiss started slow and quickly turned more passionate, Meg licking into Cas’ mouth when he opened it and her hands worming their way up his t-shirt to scratch at his back. Cas moaned and moved to slot himself between her legs, but got caught in the blankets as he did. Meg giggled when he detached himself from her and threw the blankets on the floor. Cas laughed too and then returned to kissing her.

His hips bucked down and Meg gasped against him when they did it again. Cas moved to kiss the bolt of her jaw and up to her ear, sans her usual large, bright earrings.

“You ever done this before, Cleaver?” she asked as she let her hands find his ass and pull him against her again. Cas groaned and made a noise of ‘no.’  “You want to though?”

Cas rolled his hips and trailed open mouthed kisses down Meg’s neck before answering: “Oh, yes.”

Meg pushed at Cas’ shoulder so she could start getting them both naked. She whipped her own shirt off and Cas immediately brought a hand to feel her breasts, examining the weight of each of them in his palm almost reverently. Meg didn’t stop him from rolling her nipples, one after the other, her pursuit of mutual nudity abandoned momentarily to how nice Cas’ fingertips felt against her bare skin. When he dipped his mouth to her, she remembered what she’d been trying to do.

“They’re all yours in a minute, but let’s get naked, alright?” Meg joked and found the hem of his shirt. She didn’t have to though, as Cas was pulling the garment off on his own. She eased the underwear she’d worn to bed off under Cas’ greedy eyes and she saw the small jerk in his hips to rub his erection against her mattress.  He helped her get her panties off her legs and she responded by pulling his boxers down. He kicked them off and dropped his head again so he could taste her nipples. He licked around them in circles and sucked at them while his hands played. Meg dug her hands into his hair to bring him back to level with her. She kissed him softly.

One of her hands snaked down, fingertips trailing down Cas’ jumping stomach muscles and she wrapped a hand around his cock at the base. Cas groaned again. “We’re going basic this first time. Just don’t have a freak out. You ready?”

When Cas nodded, Meg raised her legs to wrap around his sides loosely and guided him to her entrance. She pushed her hips up as she felt his head against her and Cas rocked down, sliding inside her heat. He whined, but it got louder when Meg rocked herself up.

“You feel out of this world,” Cas told her. Meg grinned and he leaned down, their lips meeting again as he began to move. There was no way this was going to last long so Meg took one of Cas’ hands and brought his fingertips to her sex so they pushed against her clit. It only took a second of her moving his hand for him before Cas got the idea and teased at the nub, circling it and pressing it. Meg bucked up against his hand quickly and Cas’ hips started to snap faster and his breath came rapidly. “Oh, God,” he groaned out and pulsed inside Meg. He snapped his hips out as he was still coming and white decorated the thatch of hair on Meg’s pubis. Cas moaned at the sight before running his fingers through the mess and back down to Meg’s clit to keep rubbing. He brought his mouth to her neck and to her ear and back to her breasts and he kept circling her clit and Meg rocked against him until she felt her orgasm spread through her. Cas kept up his movements against her until she stopped him with a hand to her wrist.

“Meg,” Cas started. Meg shook her head.

“Don’t ruin the moment, man. Just lay back down for a while and we’ll go again when you’re up to it,” she grinned at him. Cas felt something stir in him at the thought.

*

Cas adored Meg to the point of ridiculousness, he discovered. It was easy to when they kept up every part of their relationship and he could come into his apartment and get naked. He felt more free than he ever had, more able to be himself and less hung up about everything he had worried about before. Lightning had not struck him down because he’d had sex with a woman even though they weren’t married and hadn’t said they loved each other (although, he knew he loved her at least) and it freed him. And Meg noticed it. She took advantage of it to introduce him to so many new things; he started requesting that she play The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan instead of just Buddy Holly and the Beatles and he helped her paint signs for “Earth Day,” which he may have been more enthusiastic about than she was. He hung out with her friend Charlie and Charlie’s girlfriend Jo and promised to keep their secret.

Cas did more adventurous things in the next three weeks than he had ever thought himself capable of.

“Are you going to come to the protest with me tomorrow?” Meg asked when Cas came through the door. Just because he’d been being adventurous, it didn’t mean that he hadn’t been going to church every Sunday still. He shook his head.

“Meg, they’ve got the National Guard here because of Friday. I can’t be part of that‒”

“C’mon, Cleaver, you’ve done so many radical things already. This is like a nationwide thing. We need to show the Nixon administration that we won’t stand for more offensive action.”

“I understand that, but I don’t think that you should even do this.”

Meg stood up from where she was sitting on the floor. She had a smear of blue paint on her cheek. The sign she was working on was for the NOW march in August even though it was months away‒ she’d told him she wanted to get a head start so she could get all the good slogans. She was in front of Cas, taking his hands when she spoke. “You know I have to.”

“But‒”

“Cas, the National Guard doesn’t scare me. I was in Chicago during the Democratic Convention, you know. I can handle a little police violence. You’ve got to be willing to get hurt for this and you know that.” Cas sighed. “I know you worry, but tough.”

Meg sat back down to work on her sign.  Cas was still standing just inside the doorway, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t explain the knotting in his stomach about the idea of Meg protesting tomorrow when she had been there Friday too. Thankfully, Meg wanted to change the subject.

“Put on the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young record and let’s smoke. You’ll feel better.”

They passed a joint between them and Cas felt his worry melt away with the record. What he felt was love and it looked the way Meg’s smile did with a blue streak of paint above it.

***

“In this universe that we live in, there were four casualties at Kent State University in the shooting that took place during that protest. In the universe we exist there, your death is one of ten that occurred that day. I could not stay in the world to find out how I responded to your death, but I am almost certain that I did everything I could to honor you, that I started to fight. I am also sure that I made myself listen to the last Beatles album just for you as well. It’s what I would do in this world.

“It wasn’t any comfort to know that you were killed fighting for a cause, the same way you did here. It does not make it hurt less.

“But perhaps it is a comfort to you, wherever you are. You always find something to fight for. In one world, we’re both hunters, and we take down monsters, but that life is short and brutal and it’s made worse by the fact that Sam and Dean help the apocalypse along as vessels. No one survives as they were, least of all hunters on the front lines. We aren’t even reunited in heaven because there isn’t one, but I know that were there one, we would have been there.

“There are worlds where you don’t fight though. You have things you love and care about, but they are mundane and human. When you don’t live in tumultuous times, you can care about the quotidian.  In one world, we meet because you do.”

***

“I don’t know why you made me come along, Dean,” Cas said. Dean was in the middle of shoving a hot dog into his mouth so Cas had to wait for a response.

“Come on, Cas; everyone likes baseball. It’s America’s pastime!” Dean threw a wild gesture with the hand that didn’t have food in it to encompass the stadium they were in. “You’ve lived in Boston for how long now and you’ve never been to Fenway and it’s a god damn tragedy, really.”

“I’ve never been here because I don’t care about baseball and this team has been exceptionally terrible for years.”

“They’ve been alright so far this year. This is their year, man. They’ll break the curse of the Bambino.”

“Keep dreaming, Dean,” Sam said and held out a beer for Dean to take. He passed one to Cas as well and Cas took a gulp while it was still cold. It may have been only May, but they were going to be in the sun all afternoon and it wouldn’t take long for the beer to get warm and disgusting. “I don’t understand why you have to root for a cursed team to begin with.”

“Hey,” Dean started defensively, only sparing his brother a glance. “Never had a team to root for when we were kids, so why wouldn’t I pick them? It’s the first place I’ve settled down for more than a year. I waited long enough to have a home team.”

“I suppose it could be worse.”

“Yeah, I could have stayed in Chicago.”

Cas resigned himself to being half ignored and mostly bored; he listened to the first Boston batter be announced without recognizing the name at all and thought he might go deaf because of how loudly Dean screamed “Go Damon!” Damon took a first pitch strike and Cas turned to Dean to ask again.

“Look, man, this is how normal human male friends behave. They drink beer and watch ball and seriously, try to cheer up about it, weirdo,” Dean said before Cas could even get the question out. Sam shot his brother a look and then leaned forward to look at Cas.

“Don’t worry about him. Just tell him no next time he asks,” Sam shrugged. “Not everyone loves baseball.” It was at that point that Sam turned his attention back to the game and shouted just as loudly as Dean as Damon made it safely to second. Cas glared at him with an accusation of betrayal in his eyes. Sam made a face of apology. “I do though.”

Cas shook his head and settled back into the uncomfortable plastic seat. He leaned his head back a little and closed his eyes, feeling surly about everything. A shadow fell across his face and before he could open his eyes to see why, he felt something cold splatter against his forehead and someone call out “God damnit, Ruby!”

Cas sat up as fast as he could so the rest of the spilling liquid landed on the back of his gray t-shirt. He and Sam and Dean all turned to see who had lost their beer and Cas ran a hand through his hair trying to keep the liquid from dripping down into his eyes. Two brunette women stood there, one with a jersey and shorts on and a beer still in her hands, and the other with a dark blue cap over her curly hair. Cas felt Sam and Dean both notice how pretty both of them were and straighten their backs out slightly.

“Give me that beer and go get some napkins, Ruby,” the one in the ‘B’ cap told her companion.

“Why do I have to give you my beer?” She only got a glare in response. The woman, Ruby, shoved the beer at her friend with a sigh, “Fine.” She all but stormed off.

“I am so sorry about the fact that I have impatient as hell friends. Complete accident, I swear.”

Cas nodded at the woman, “I know. Nothing you could do.” Cas gave a small wave and went to turn back around and resume his task of trying to fall asleep. A hand over his shoulder prevented him though.

“I’m Meg, by the way.” She pointed at Cas’ quarter empty cup, “When you finish that one, let me buy you another beer to make up for the unwanted golden shower.”

He saw her smirk and heard Dean’s snort of laughter and knew he missed something but all he did was show her a polite smile and say thank you and turned again. He was puzzling over how his luck seemed to be so bad when Dean jostled him with an elbow seconds later.

“Dude,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “When a hot chick at a baseball game tells you her name, you tell her yours too. If she offers to get you a beer, you should probably get on your knees‒”

“And pray that your friend doesn’t finish his sentence,” Meg interrupted. Sam was the one to laugh that time. Cas glared at Dean and briefly wondered how long it would take him to make new friends or find a better mechanic before giving up the thought and twisting in his seat once again.

“Now I’m sorry for my friend,” Cas said. “My name is Castiel.”

“What?” Meg asked. Cas sighed with the air of a man long-suffering the same fate.

“It’s religious. Most people call me Cas. Or Dr. Novak, I suppose,” Cas mused. It came out completely unpretentious by some miracle.

“You spilled a beer on a doctor,” Ruby jumped in. “Also, how cliché is it that I come back and you’re flirting with a doctor when you’re a nurse. I knew _ER_ was right.”

Meg whacked Ruby on the arm before she took the napkins and handed them to Cas so he could try to pat down his hair the best he could.

“He’s a genius and all,” Sam started, with a smile that threatened to turn into a dimpled grin about the good natured ribbing of his friend, “but if someone has a heart attack or something, I’d let her take care of it. Not that kind of doctor.”

Ruby smiled back. “I’ll keep it in mind.” She looked Sam up and down unabashedly. “Although if I stop breathing, I don’t want Meg giving me mouth to mouth either.”

Dean looked between the two of them and rolled his eyes. But Meg was speaking to Cas before Dean could try to stop the flirting between his brother and Ruby.

“You like a dentist or something then?”

“I’m a professor.”

“Oh, where, at Harvard?” Meg asked, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

“Full time yes, but I teach an undergraduate class on the philosophy of religion every other spring at MIT.” Meg mouthed out ‘wow’ in response and Cas shrugged it off. “I’m not saving people’s lives, just teaching theology.”

“Jesus,” Dean muttered. “Even at a game you manage to talk about academics.” He apparently didn’t care that his comment was ignored, and he went back to watching the game.

“I didn’t think Harvard professors would like things the rest of us peasants like.”

“If you mean baseball, I hate to confirm your suspicions. I don’t understand it or the appeal of it,” Cas admitted. Meg’s face didn’t fall into an expression of being personally offended and Cas already liked her a little bit more  

“I’ll teach you,” she said. Cas looked skeptical. “No, really. You don’t get the appeal because you don’t get the rules. But you’re here and I can teach you.”

“You think I haven’t tried that yet?” Dean asked her over his shoulder.

“You probably have but not without being condescending as fuck.”

Sam let out a bark of laughter. “She’s totally got you.” Even Cas smirked at Dean’s clear discomfort at that.

And somehow, the game did seem a little more tolerable, almost enjoyable with the way Meg would lean over his shoulder‒ the one opposite Dean so he couldn’t hear the absolutely basic nature of what Meg was explaining‒ and tell Cas what was going on, why it was important, and what the idea behind each move was. She was infinitely patient, and Cas chalked it up to being a nurse and dealing with people who may not always be all that stable. During the fifth inning, Meg got up to get herself and Cas another beer. When she came back she made sure to hand Cas a specific cup. Her phone number was written on the side of it in permanent marker she must have begged from one of the vendors.

“So you can take me on a date where you have to explain everything as payback,” she explained.

He was having a good time, but begged off early before the eighth inning started. He told Meg he would think about taking her up on her offer and the smile she gave him in return was like honey; it stuck in his mind as he was looking over his notes for the address he’d give in two days and made it impossible to concentrate.

*

“I can’t believe you just bailed out like that at that game last week,” Dean told him. Cas had just gotten back from the conference he’d attended in Montreal and Dean had insisted he come out for one drink. Some of Dean’s friends, Ash and Gordon, were out with them as well, but had claimed a pool table.

“I had to prepare for my trip. I told you I hadn’t wanted to go out that night.”

“Yeah, but you’re glad you did, aren’t you? I saw that Meg chick leave you her number,” Dean smirked. Cas frowned at him for the tone. Cas took a drink of his beer, still frowning. “Oh, come on, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just think it’s good to see you actually interact with another human being.”

“Dean, I do interact with‒”

“No, you go to conferences and talk about the Bible and shit. You don’t actually have fun,” Dean interrupted after he slammed the last bit of his beer.

“I’ve told you a number of times that that is fun for me. I’m an academic for a reason,” Cas said. He held up a hand to stop Dean from talking over him again. “But I am going to call her.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” a voice behind Cas said. He saw Dean’s grin and turned to face Meg, who had made her way up to their table.

“You don’t have to, Cas,” Dean said with a nod of his head. “This is what friends are for.”

Cas gave Meg a small smile as she sat down on what had been Gordon’s stool before he turned a steely gaze on Dean. Dean shrugged at him unaffected and Cas turned back to Meg. “Forgive me for my meddlesome friends. Again.”

“I’m just glad he wasn’t just hitting on me using you as a ploy,” Meg replied. Dean’s brow lowered in fake hurt. “No offense, Dean-o, but Ken Doll’s not really my type.”

“I’d be offended,” he started. As he continued he dragged his gaze away from whoever was making eyes at him at the bar and gave a smirk to Cas and Meg. “But, ah, I think I see my Barbie over at the bar. Don’t wait up.”

With that, he left Cas and Meg at the table on their own.

“So why’s it take a guy more than a week to call me? Classes aren’t in session.”

“A conference on the New Testament in Montreal kept me away.”

“You couldn’t call because you were busy with the bible? First time I’ve heard that one,” she shrugged. “I was starting to think that maybe you just didn’t like me. I mean, you even left before ‘Sweet Caroline’ played.”

“What?”

“What do you mean what?” Cas shook his head as though to say he couldn’t explain himself further and Meg gaped. “Oh, no, I’m gonna need a beer for this. Wait.”

It wasn’t long before she was back and setting a mug in front of herself and one in front of Cas. “Thank you,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“This way, if you don’t drink it fast enough, I call dibs. Now, you need to say one more time why you don’t know what ‘Sweet Caroline’ means.”

“I’m assuming it’s a song…” Cas trailed off. He should have been used to other people’s behaviors when he made it know he didn’t understand a pop culture reference.

“Holy shit, Cas, I thought you just meant you didn’t know the Sox had been playing it at Fenway for years now, not that you didn’t even know the song! Do you live under a rock?” Meg demanded, her voice a little on the harsh side.

“Under a pile of books, actually,” Cas responded. Meg didn’t apologize and Cas found that he liked her for it.

“I work 14 hour shifts sticking needles in people and cleaning their shit and I find a way to have a life outside my work,” Meg pointed out. She waved a hand before Cas could reply. “Whatever, we all live our lives and nobody else’s right?” She held up her mug so Cas could hesitantly clink his against it. After a drink and a short moment of almost awkward silence, she spoke again. “Tell me about this conference then.”

“You really want to hear about it?” Cas asked.

“I told you that you owed me a date where you explained everything to me, didn’t I? Now’s your chance. Tell me all about Jesus and his life.”

Cas shook his head. “I could do that, but this conference was actually on my preferred area of study. It dealt with angels in the New Testament, so Jesus was only incidental.”

Meg rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Okay, then tell me all about how an angel gets his wings, Clarence.”

“Who? And what?”

Meg stared, slack jawed and disbelieving again. “You teach angels right?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded slowly.

“And not one kid has ever said anything about an angel getting his wings when a bell rings?” Cas shook his head. Meg threw up her hands. “You’ve got to be kidding me! What the hell kind of kids go to Harvard, Cas?”

“Highly gifted and most frequently rich ones.”

“You’re very literal,” Meg said. “It’s oddly cute.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Cas glanced over at where Ash and Gordon had been and saw that Dean, with the blonde he’d clearly eyed at the bar under his arm, was pointing toward the table. Cas could almost hear him telling the other two men to leave him some privacy.

“Would you like to get out of here?” Cas asked suddenly. Meg’s eyebrow shot up.

“Why, Clarence, I’d had you pegged for an angel yourself.”

“I still don’t know who Clarence is, and I didn’t actually mean it like that. I thought you might like to avoid the third degree from Dean’s friends, which would be highly desirable on my part. I’ll buy you a drink at The Bell in Hand if you’d like.”

“Oh, sure. Ruby drags me there after the frites place she loves all the time.”

“I find it better to drink here in Boston proper than in Cambridge, even in the summers, and I’ve grown fond of the Bell’s Samuel Adams.” Cas didn’t understand why he was offering the information without it being asked of him, but he seemed to want to keep talking to Meg. She was shaking her head in distaste.

“Not real crazy about it. But I’m not picky.”

Meg navigated the cobblestone corridor to get to the bar with ease Cas rarely saw women in heels do. The one time she grabbed onto his arm, it was more for show than for balance. Cas found himself grinning at her as they walked and talked about nothing in particular.

It wasn’t until he was in the middle of reading a chapter of the book he was working on the next day that he realized throughout the entire date that lasted until closing time that Meg never explained to him who Clarence was.

*

Neither one of them really understood how it happened‒ Cas was terrible at hearing his phone and Meg rarely got enough time away from work where she wasn’t exhausted‒ but by the time August rolled around, they were a couple. Both of them caught themselves saying “we” on more than one occasion, and it was terrifying. But it was also good.

They’d go get dinner and find their way to JP Lick’s afterward where Meg would sample every flavor. They went to lunch on the North End to eat pasta and watch mob movies in Strega before the crowd. Meg, one memorable time, brought take out up to Cambridge and they sprawled out in Harvard Yard eating it, Cas enjoying the scenery much more without having to worry about so many students. They’d grown intimately familiar with which T stops they needed to get off at to see each other and what the other’s schedule looked like. It was normal.

Cas had cooked dinner for the two of them and Meg was loading his dishwasher. She checked the clock and turned to Cas with a glint in her eye.

“I’m teaching you more baseball. Come on.” Meg dragged Cas to his couch and flipped on the TV, which she had been surprised he even had. She switched onto the channel she wanted and Cas didn’t even have to hold back a sigh as the Red Sox appeared on the screen. Meg looked serious, but he could feel the happiness coming off her. She’d thrown her feet up on the couch and Cas pulled one foot onto his lap, massaging the ball of it.

Meg kept up a steady stream of commentary, trying to explain to Cas what each player would have to do and improve to make them a contender for the series and Cas took each lesson with an “mmhmm” or “I see” although he wasn’t truly paying attention. He started to when she ripped her foot out of his hands though.

She jumped from the couch and headed to the radio he had on his entertainment center that was mostly full of books.

“What are you doing, Meg?”

“Wait,” she said as she adjusted the dial. “Awesome, here we go!”

Cas could hear the opening notes of a song and suddenly Meg was singing. When it got to the chorus, he understood.

“This is ‘Sweet Caroline’?”  Meg nodded before yelling “so good, so good, so good!” and Cas just laughed. She was being entirely too loud and nearing obnoxiousness, but it didn’t matter. She looked elated, even if the song got cut short by the radio announcers going back to calling the game.  “Why?”

“Does it matter why, Clarence? Sometimes things are just fun. It’s a good song.”

Cas nodded. “It has a very nice melody.”

“See, I can convert you to a Sox fan yet. Now,” she told him, bringing her feet back up to the couch. “Get back to rubbing. And feel free to come a little higher up if you want.”

As it turned out, a little higher up turned out to be an invitation for them to make unhurried love on the couch as the Red Sox won the game. The sex wasn’t as important as the fact that after, Cas couldn’t stop himself from brushing the hair out of Meg’s face and for the first time saying “I think I love you.”

Meg just looked at him, searching his face for a moment, but it was unlined, unworried, relaxed for having just dropped such a statement. She took a deep breath.

“I think I might love you too.”

In the morning, when sun streamed through his curtains and lit Meg’s pale skin to radiance, Cas mentally erased the “I think” and wondered when he’d be able to tell her that.

***

“There are many worlds where nothing is so domestic and we don’t have the chance to be in love that I wanted to stay in that world as long as I could. I wanted to see you happy. I liked seeing that I helped make you happy.

“In one world, I make you happy, but only because Lucifer wins and gives me to you as a pet. It doesn’t end well, for either of us.

“But in this world, where we fall in love in a Boston summer, things do go well for quite some time still…”

***

Cas found himself at Fenway again in September, in seats down the right field line instead of the bleachers with Meg next to him instead of Dean.  It was her birthday that week and Cas had gotten tickets before he had even realized that the team was in a playoff push. Meg was barely paying attention to him throughout the game she was so nervous about the outcome. She got snappish at him one time and he pursed his lips. As the teams switched sides that inning she turned her full attention to him to apologize.

“Don’t be mad at me for a game, please,” Cas responded. “I’m only here because of you.”

Meg leaned over and kissed him, hard, and long enough that someone behind them shouted for them to get a room. Someone else whistled and Cas thought his ears might be red when Meg pulled back.

“I know, Clarence, and I love you for it. But if I can get you to stop being such a big nerd for two days over your semester break or something, I’m going to force you to read a baseball rule book. Shoulda done that weeks ago.”

Cas didn’t manage to come up with a response before she turned her attention back to the field. He, quite frankly, was bored watching the game and his ass hurt and he felt cramped in the seats even if they were better than bleacher ones. But it was worth it to watch Meg leap up and scream at the end of the game when Boston won. Her excitement carried over to the way she kissed him against her door when they got back to her apartment. They managed to have sex, Meg riding Cas at a near gallop and pinching at her own nipples to put on a show, before she had to go to her shift at work.

Cas had work he had to do to prepare for his class the next day, but he looked through Meg’s bookshelf until his eyes lit on an official major league baseball rulebook. He could flip through it for a while before his work took precedence.

As it turned out, reading a rulebook didn’t help. But continuing to fall in love with Meg and watching her be able to slough off the hell of her work on the days when she could watch her team did. He worked with the radio announcing the playoff games when Meg was at work and allowed his mind to wander to how she must have been handling not being able to watch the games, or if she would stay in patients’ rooms longer than she should have to watch with them. Their nights out to dinner ceased during the month of October almost, Meg too busy at work and keeping up with every little statistic and bit of info and Cas too wrapped up in his book and teaching and following the game as best he could to stay connected to Meg.

Meg took the night of game seven off and ordered pizza and informed Cas that he was not to speak to her throughout the game or he would never get laid again. Cas hadn’t tested whether or not she was serious. For the first time, he watched more of the game than he did of Meg. Until the very last out, when the Red Sox won and Boston as a city celebrated. Then he watched as Meg threw her head back and roared in gleeful laughter. Her speech was nearly incoherent, but Cas got the gist, catching words like “finally” and “Bambino” and “did it” and “fuck.” Eventually, Cas pulled her down the hallway to lay her down in her bed and lick at her sex until she keened and told him it was the perfect night.

*

It was their thing. Meg couldn’t get Cas to be a Patriots fan, but she didn’t try very hard, because she’d worked her magic with baseball. Meg worked too much at Massachusetts General and Cas finished a first draft of his book and they double dated with Sam and Ruby and then once with Dean and the girl he’d been seeing, Bela, and then with Dean and the guy he’d been seeing, Victor. They got so drunk that Cas pissed in Boston Harbor and almost got arrested when they found a publisher for his book, even though Meg told him the whole night that he should have expected it. A year went by before they knew it and again, in September, before Meg’s birthday, they were at Fenway. It was easy to feel generous since they’d won last year when Chicago booted them out of the playoffs, at least for Cas. Meg grumbled about it still, but less when they won the whole series.

In December, one of Cas’ brothers, Gabriel descended on the city and made a mess of Cas’ apartment by staying there. He was snarky and obnoxious but Meg knocked him down more than a few pegs and Gabriel explicitly gave Cas his approval. Before hitting on Meg.

“I don’t play well with others and he doesn’t share,” she’d told him darkly before kissing Cas filthily and waltzing out to go to work. In all but technicality, they were living together, but Meg had spent most of the time Gabriel was there at her place. Gabriel had let out a low whistle and Cas had just shook his head.

Cas asked Meg for them to get a place together the first day of 2006 and when she agreed, he opened up his computer to show her spaces he’d already been looking at. He stuttered out that he didn’t mean to be presumptuous but Meg told him to shut up with a smile in her voice.

“This is why you’re the one, Clarence,” she told him. “You’re my unicorn.”

“I don’t know what that means, Meg,” Cas told her, but he leaned in to her kiss nonetheless.

Meg’s job was demanding and so was she, but Cas found that knowing she’d be there in the home they built with each other in the apartment they’d picked out after dealing with students who went after things almost only for grades was refreshing. Even during the summer, when she came home complaining about pushy patients and wanted Cas’ woes with his publisher to sooth her pain, it was easy for them to be together.

They fought, like couples do from time to time, but half the time, Cas was sure Meg was picking a fight just for the make-up sex. Nothing was ever life and death in their fights, nothing was ever about principles or ideals; they fought about whether or not Cas had forgotten Meg’s usual Thai order or if Meg had moved the loose pages of Cas’ book draft. It was all easily solved.

They’d fought about whether or not to spend the money to buy tickets to sit on the Green Monster that September for Meg’s birthday. Meg had won and they sat down the first base line. Cas hadn’t understood why she hadn’t wanted to let him spend the money, but she’d been adamant. It wasn’t until the bottom of the fifth inning when he leaned over and told Meg that he was going to get a beer at the break and she shook her head and told him to wait that he thought something odd was going on; when she went on to say that she’d go with him in the mid sixth, he shrugged it off.

The inning ended and Cas stood and opened his mouth to tell Meg to just come with him now since her beer was gone, but she tapped him on the arm and pointed to the jumbotron across from them. Cas tried not to look annoyed at her diversion and turned.

“HEY, CLARENCE, LET’S GET MARRIED”

Cas felt his mouth drop open and he whipped his head back around to see Meg smirking at him.

“I told you that beer could wait. What do you say, Cas, do you wanna get hitched?” Cas snuck a quick glance sideways to see if there was a camera pointing at them to display their faces to the crowd, but there wasn’t; Meg must not have told the crew their seat numbers.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Cas said. The words had barely left his mouth before he was sweeping Meg into his arms to kiss her, her feet leaving the ground as she clung to Cas.  Instead of being yelled at to get a room, this time there was a small round of applause from the section around them. A few people called out congratulations and neither Cas nor Meg could be bothered to hear if anyone gave them any grief over the fact that she had been the one to ask. When the Sox beat the Orioles, it felt like they’d won the series again Cas was so happy. He knew Meg wouldn’t go that far, but he didn’t care. He knew that he loved her for everything she was, and it was as simple as that.

He spent the next morning scouring jewelry stores for the perfect ring: platinum with a square cut diamond set into the band. When he got down on one knee, Meg told him incredulously to get up, that she’d already proposed to him, but she held a hand out for the ring. She kissed him, gently, and told him that she couldn’t wear a ring for fear of losing it at work.

“Open the box, Meg,” Cas said with a nod. A silver chain was threaded through it and Meg’s lips twisted up into a smile. “I know you. And I’m not stupid.”

“No,” she said, handing him the necklace and lifting her hair. He closed the clasp and the ring dropped to sit just above her breastbone. “You’re not stupid.”  Her fingers toyed with it and she looked down briefly. “So I suppose this means we have to plan a wedding doesn’t it?”

Cas smiled and pulled Meg close to him again. “Yes. But it’ll be fun. And we’re not in a hurry.”

***

“But we have no time. We’re far too busy to plan a wedding. I have to go on university tours for my book and your work never stops. It doesn’t seem to be a big deal. We’ll get married when we get married, we tell each other and ourselves.

“It isn’t a big deal, that is, until you get sick. You start losing weight and your back hurts, but you chalk it up to stress at work and me being gone, but when you’re jaundiced, you know something’s wrong. I cut my tour two weeks short, because you have cancer in your pancreas. No one can explain why.

“You get the best care you can, but the outlook is not great. You say you’d rather die living your life than attached to some chemotherapy bag or a hospital bed. It is the only time we have a real fight and I am not sure either one of us had ever felt such pain. But you win, as usual. You try to work at the hospital for one more week, the week I am supposed to start teaching, but it doesn’t work, for either of us. I take a sabbatical and damn the consequences and you’re given medical leave.

“We spend the next two months together nigh constantly. We do spend the money on the uh, ‘Green Monster’ and we see the leaves start to change in Maine and I find a wheel chair for you when you’re in pain for us to go around the Smithsonian museum on a week trip to Washington D.C. We try to live, knowing there is little time left, even though you call yourself a cliché for doing it. We both pretend neither one of us cries some nights.

“In October, we cheer as the Red Sox win the World Series yet again and you turn to me after game 4 and say that we should get married- ‘go down to town hall and get married like we’re pregnant kids’ you say. It only takes three days to set it up and our friends watch us. You look beautiful in the simple dress you picked out, even if you’re exhausted. We make sure it’s not a somber occasion. Our friends help that.

“We’re married only a month. You die three weeks before Christmas. I get so drunk Christmas Eve that I break the TV you’d bought for us when it plays ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’ Gabriel finds me in my own vomit the next morning when he stops by.

“In that world, when you die, I can no longer teach about angels. I cannot fathom their, nor a benevolent god’s, existence without you around. Here, I know the truth. Somehow I still find your actual death to be proof of that truth: God has been gone for a long while and life can be very hard. I miss you very much, both there and then and here and right now.

“In another life, I go after you. In a world where I do not have battles in heaven that need tending for the greater good, I go to purgatory and I try to find you. I fear that even there, I will not. I don’t have the courage to look deep enough into that world to know if we are reunited, if I can bring you back to earth. Right now the possibility that we are, that I can, helps me somehow and I do not want to give that up.

“I do not know that you would understand that, because in one world, you’re willing to make that risk for me. There’s a world where Sam has said yes to Lucifer and Dean turns himself into a different man because of it. I’ve fallen in every way imaginable. You and I have never met, but you hope for protection from the devil you know that is Dean so you try to make your way to our camp. We’ve already left when you get there, but you arrive in Detroit just in time to see Sam and his followers kill every last one of us. He kills you too.

“There are a number of worlds where we don’t meet, but they held very little interest to me. I love you enough for them not to matter.

“There’s a version of this life where I admit that I am in love with you to myself early and go back into the past before your soul was twisted into a demon. I get to see your true face, the one that is realer than the twisted smoke you were, no matter how beautiful.”   

***

The English countryside was verdant and the sky was clear and were Castiel not a celestial being who had seen the world since its creation‒ if he were Jimmy Novak, say‒ he would be shocked by the difference in the world of 1412 and 2010. As it was, Castiel could only see the woman in the window of the small house he was outside of. He recognized her and felt a sense of relief. This woman was clearly Meg; or rather, the demon he loved named Meg was this woman, who Castiel knew was Margaret Smith.

Margaret stood in her kitchen, cutting bread, and she was beautiful. Castiel could see her soul, pure and hopeful and it was stunning, but the physical form that Meg had been born in was also beautiful. Her hair was a dirty blond underneath the white handkerchief that held it from her face and her face was round. Her nose turned up at the end and her brown eyes were large. Castiel wondered what it would be like to see his Meg in such a kind looking woman. Castiel wanted to be closer and materialized in the house, remaining invisible.

Margaret’s husband, whom Castiel knew to be Daniel, came into the house and Margaret had a smile for him. He returned it hesitantly and Castiel’s brow furrowed as Daniel breezed past his wife. The smile fell from Margaret’s face and she continued to slice the loaf of bread on her counter. Castiel watched as she tried to walk as lightly as possible to the cupboard in the corner of the modest wooden house and pull out a slab of salted beef with absolute quiet. Castiel puzzled at her silence. When she brought a plate of bread and meat and a cup of mead to Daniel and set a soothing hand against his shoulder before she spoke, Castiel understood.

“Was town terrible again today, husband?” she asked.

Daniel bit a chunk of meat off the slab of it and chewed thoughtfully. He took a swig of his drink before answering.

“Not so bad, no. The smith said he would take the wheat as payment for fixing the plow blade.” Daniel saw the smile Margaret gave him, but judging by the way his glass stopped briefly halfway up to his lips, he did not know how to respond to it well. Castiel knew that relationships between men and women were different in this time, but even he wondered how a man could not know to simply smile back at his wife. Daniel and Margaret had been married only half a year and the man was still seemingly growing used to sharing a home with his bride; Margaret of course, had taken to being a wife with grace.

“That is good to hear,” Margaret told Daniel. He nodded while chewing. “Will you need help in the field tomorrow after church?”

“No,” he said. He was done with his food and he pushed his chair back from the table. “I must tend to the animals.”

He once again went past his wife and was out the door. Margaret was left sitting by herself at the table with Daniel’s dirty plate. She bit her lip. Castiel wanted to talk to her very badly.  However, he remained silent, sure that he would be better off simply watching her for at least a few days.

He’d come back because he didn’t want her to turn into a demon. It had taken so much effort to find Meg as her original self, to pinpoint her exact location in space and time, that Castiel hadn’t wanted to spend his energy on seeing her future; he’d seen it because he’d lived in a world where her soul had been brutalized into black smoke shot through with the gray of moral ambiguity and the ash of wasted potential. Castiel had never wanted to mess with the natural order of how things were meant to go for personal reasons‒ yes, he’d tried to help thwart the apocalypse, but that had never been for himself, nor for just the Winchesters. That had been for the good of humanity and his father’s creation, but this, this traveling back to find Meg as she had been and not as she was, was for him. He was sure he could love Meg as she had been Margaret. Just because her soul had been made a demon, it didn’t mean that she wasn’t the same in many ways. That’s what a demon was, after all. At least, from Cas’ knowledge and experience.

***

“There is a world where you aren’t a demon. Rather, you are an angel. You rescue Dean from hell. In that world, it is I who is a demon. I am not as good at it as you are and Sam and Dean kill me the first chance they get once they have Ruby’s knife. I’m not sure why you and I are the only ones who have reversed roles in that world.

“Unfortunately, you do become a demon in this universe. Differently than you did here, but only slightly, if what I have seen is correct. I’d like you to know how and I’d like to apologize for it even before you know.”

***

“Does he not think I can help?” Margaret muttered. She rose from her chair and picked up Daniel’s plate, wiping it with a spare bit of cloth as she munched on the last piece of bread he had left. She returned it to her cabinet‒ a plain but lovely bit of carpentry‒ and made her way to her rocking chair.

She had a basket of woolen yarn, most of which was gray with a red tangle and a green tangle as well, and she picked up the knitting needles that sat in the middle of the pile. Castiel smiled to himself to see her in such a seemingly peaceful place. The stitches she made were tight and Castiel thought that the blanket she was knitting looked warm and cozy.

“I wish Meg remembered herself like this,” he said out loud to himself. He’d grown so used to having company when he wanted it that it felt strange to restrain himself from sitting down across from Margaret and striking up a conversation with her. But he was able to do so. He watched her, as fascinated as some humans were with watching bees; she worked just as hard and created something as impressive as a hive in Castiel’s mind.

Even though it became clear that her husband did not know how to handle her, Margaret made their house a home as best she could. After church she would make a meal with what they had and she would stoke a fire when it began to get dark and Daniel was still not back from the fields. There were days when she tended to the garden she had planted for her and Daniel alone, but her tomato plant yielded few vegetables. Until Castiel intervened. It was worth his energy to see the way Margaret’s eyes sparkled and hear the giggle she let out in happiness.

Daniel was neither cruel nor especially kind to her when he was around mostly. Some days he had a smile for her, some days he had a request for her help with a task. He went so far as to compliment the dress she was sewing one day and Margaret had absolutely beamed at him. But other days he was surly and snappish. He went so far as to slap her across the mouth when she burned the fresh beef they’d gotten. Castiel had nearly shattered their clay water jug in his sudden anger, but did not want Margaret to be blamed for that as well. She had looked away from Daniel and gone immediately back to making their meal. Daniel had apologized, and Castiel had not seen him move toward Margaret in anger any other time while he’d been there.

Castiel respectfully looked away when they took to their marriage bed. He could not miss the fact that the two of them were normally quiet, with a grunt punctuating the silence now and then. Castiel almost wished he could explain to not only the two of them, but the rest of the Catholic village, that expressing the sexual pleasure that they must have felt was not an affront to the act of procreation. As it was, their quiet let him know when he could turn around‒ Daniel would end up snoring most nights. One night in particular, Margaret began a tentative conversation.

“Daniel,” she murmured. “If you do not find me pleasurable, then we do not need to fornicate.” Daniel, for once, seemed to have a response ready, but Margaret cut him off. “I believe that I am well along with child.”

Daniel gave Margaret the most genuine smile Castiel had witnessed on the man, but he himself was shocked. He had been unable to detect the presence of a slowing forming soul with Meg’s. Now, he realized that he must have just been distracted by seeing Meg as Margaret, because there was the faint energy of a child forming. It was so entwined with Meg’s soul. But Castiel saw the glow of Meg’s small smile as she drifted off to sleep with Daniel’s hand near her belly that he had to smile as well.

Castiel decided then that he would reveal himself to Margaret sometime in the next day; he wanted to help her pregnancy, and perhaps having a steady companion would aid her.

*

Castiel tried his best not to startle Margaret when he materialized. He knocked on the door and when she came to see who it was, Margaret wore an incredibly puzzled face. Her nose wrinkled at the sight of Castiel’s clothes.

“Hello, Margaret. Do you go by Meg at all?”

Margaret nodded absently. She was still staring skeptically at Castiel. “My husband is just outside, sir, if you‒”

“I’m not here to see Daniel,” Castiel interrupted. Margaret‒ Meg‒ looked uneasy. “I am also not here to hurt you. I promise.” Meg regarded him silently, her hand inching closer to her stomach. “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Meg implored him to be truthful, her face racked with terror and hope both. When Castiel flashed his wings to her, she made the sign of the cross but looked elated. She moved to drop down to her knees as though to worship, but Castiel stopped her with a palm raised. She looked up at him.

“My name is Castiel. I would like to help you through your pregnancy.”

“But please, sir, if I may ask the plan of the Lord, why?” Meg’s voice shook a little. Castiel just smiled enigmatically. When she still stood expecting a response, Castiel answered her as best he could without revealing too much.

“You are important. You are loved. I want to make sure your baby is as well.”

“Daniel will be so pleased,” she said with a fond look down at her stomach. Castiel’s brow furrowed.

“We should not tell Daniel yet. He is a devout man, it’s true, but my instructions were to reveal myself only to you.” Castiel didn’t know where the lies were coming from, but he could justify them easily. He did want to keep her baby safe, and it would be easier if Daniel did not know he was in his house. “I am here to help you, to help your child. Any assistance you need, I will be able to bring you. Just say the word.”

“Truly?” Meg asked. The tone in her voice foreshadowed the woman Castiel would know her as. He smiled as he nodded. “Can you bake bread, angel?”

Castiel found that he didn’t mind the work of making bread from scratch. He insisted, under Meg’s watchful eyes, at doing it without using his grace. He told her it was so she would not get spoiled, but he wanted to be able to spend as much time interacting with Meg like this as possible. Her small hands pushed at his to try to show him exactly how to knead the dough.

 Once they had two loaves of bread baking, the two of them went out into her garden. She pointed at the tomato plant.

“Have you been hiding here?” Castiel kept his mouth shut and she asked again, stubbornly. “Did you make them grow?” She kept pestering him until he cracked and admitted that he had. She beamed. “Thank you.”

“You made the cucumbers grow on your own,” he pointed out.

“Yes, and cucumbers taste lovely with tomatoes, so again, I thank you.” There was a spunk to her voice and Castiel was struck by how much she was like his Meg. It was obvious to him that had she had the correct sort of companion in her husband, she would show as much spark normally.  They picked the vegetables that were still on the vines and brought them into the kitchen. “Would you like some?”

Castiel shook his head no.

“I am cutting some for myself, it would be no trouble. Do angels not eat?”

“Not usually, no.” She accepted that as an answer and began to slice. Castiel was content to watch her, knowing that she might turn and talk to him at any moment.

It was a good day. And there was a string of days just like it. Daniel worked as hard as he always did, but now admonishing Meg to take care of the baby and asking her help with even fewer tasks, and then Castiel would appear to help her and keep her company. She would tidy the house and he would assist; she would sew clothing and he would rub her swollen feet, barely noticing what garments she was sewing; she would fix meals and he would help her slice. He answered her questions about her baby perfunctorily. It wasn’t until they had fallen into a routine that brought them closer than Castiel thought he could hope for in his time for over three weeks that he truly stopped to examine her and the baby’s growth.

At first everything seemed as it should be. The baby’s energy had grown and Castiel thought that perhaps in two weeks time, though it was early, he’d be able to tell her the sex of the child. But the fetus was sapping Meg’s energy more than it should have been. Castiel felt his mouth turn into a frown and then heard the panic in Meg’s voice.

“What is it? Is my baby alright? Please, tell me my baby is alright, Castiel. I don’t‒”

Castiel held out a hand to gently tell her she needed to calm herself and she cut her speech off. She exhaled heavily.

“The baby is alright. It is you I am concerned about right now.”

“Me?”

Castile nodded. “Perhaps you need to rest more. I can perform more of your duties.”

Meg clasped Castiel’s hands in hers at that moment and brought them to her lips in gratitude.

Yet, after two weeks of Castiel performing nearly all of Meg’s duties, the situation did not change. Meg’s energy was still draining.

“Can’t you just see what is going to happen?” Meg asked him when he informed her.  He cocked his head to the side and considered.

“Yes, I can do that for you. It will take some of my energy to move through time, but I will do it.”

Castiel did not bother to warn Meg that he would be gone, just blinked out of the room for a split second in her eyes.  It was tiring to travel forward in time, but it was only half a year of following Meg’s soul and the child’s to see what would happen.

Meg’s child would not be born alive. Castiel saw that as soon as he stopped. He could not turn away from the scene quickly enough to miss Meg’s tortured wailing as the midwife shielded the small body of the child away from her, not even confirming what sex the child was. Castiel watched as Meg fell unconscious and the midwife sprang into action trying to make sure she stayed alive.

When Meg came to, still in emotional and physical pain and danger, the midwife told her: “If the child would have survived, it likely would have killed you instead.”

Castiel had seen enough. It hurt to see Meg’s face so hopeful with her hand on her stomach. He grimaced.

“What? What is it Castiel?”

“Meg,” he started. “Margaret, I’m very sorry‒”

“Is my child not well?”

Castiel shook his head, slowly. He knew no matter how sympathetic his face was, it would not help. “The child will be stillborn. Or it will kill you. I know of nothing I can do. I’m very sorry.”

Meg’s face crumpled and she stared at her stomach as tears trickled down her cheeks. Her fists were clenched and Castiel watched her silently.  It took no time for her to straighten her head and look Castiel dead in the eyes, not shying away from the grace she knew was thrumming beneath the surface there.

“Then I will be killed.”

“No, Meg, you can have other children. You can try again,” Castiel said immediately. Meg glared at him so fiercely that he stopped speaking.

“Get out,” she demanded. Castiel looked taken aback. “If you cannot help me, you leave me alone!”

“Meg‒”

“Get out!” she roared. Her tears came for forcefully then and she turned away from Castiel as she put her face in her hands. “And you stay away from me!”

So Castiel did. He didn’t stray too far, just into the village. He watched the people go about their daily lives and while he thought he should be lucky to watch people so closely, to see how they eked out their living and made it enjoyable, he felt unmoored. He wanted to be with Meg, to have the companionship that they had had. But he didn’t know how he could change her fate or how he could ease her anguish about it. He didn’t know what could.

After three days of staying away, he did return to see her. He didn’t materialize and show himself to her, just watched as she knit, slowly. Daniel came in and questioned her lack of a meal, but he simply went back out the door when she looked up at him with doe eyes, blinking and not speaking. With one last look at her, Castiel cursed his inabilities and went back to the village.

It was two weeks before something should have brought him back, but he didn’t notice the demonic energy around the household when he should have.

*

But Castiel did return, once again, to Meg’s home. He would ask her if she truly wanted him gone and see if there was anything he could do for her, perhaps as a goodbye if she wanted him gone.

When he arrived at the house, Meg was leaning on a broom to rest while sweeping the floor. Castiel felt regret immediately; that had been one of the first duties he’d taken over. He didn’t materialize until he was standing in front of the door and then he knocked, and waited once Meg said “Coming!” Her feet fell heavier than they had before.

Castiel had expected a slammed door or at least a scowl when Meg opened the door to see him. Instead, Meg beamed at him.

“I was hoping you would come back.”

“I didn’t want to stay away even this long,” Castiel admitted. Meg blushed, just slightly and Castiel held out a hand to take the broom she was still carrying. “May I sweep for you?”

Meg nodded her head and opened the door wide so that Castiel could come in. She handed him the broom and she moved to sit down in her rocking chair as she always had done. Castiel didn’t want to be ungrateful to the fact that Meg seemed to have forgiven him, so he remained silent as he swept. Meg didn’t speak either. It wasn’t until Castiel had tidied up and put the broom away that they broke the silence.

“I found a way for my baby to survive.” Meg was smiling at Cas and he smiled back. He tried not to let worry crease his brow. “Everything will be fine now. I am sorry I lost my temper with you.”

“It is alright. How did you‒” But Castiel cut himself off when he saw Meg shaking her head. She was keeping it to herself.

“You and I may be friends again. I like it much better when you are around.”

Castiel took Meg’s hands in his own and rubbed them to keep her circulation up. “I like it better too.”

***

“I never ask you what you did and you send me away again before the baby is born. You tell me to go help others and so I do. I return to my time expecting to do just that. But I don’t get to.

“You made a deal, as Margaret Smith, to save the life of your child. Your child is the first experiment Azazel makes. He doesn’t do a very good job of it though. You die, trade your life for your child’s exactly and the child cannot survive without its mother, even if it has been given demon blood.

“Not only did I fail in my mission in keeping you from becoming a demon, I make sure it happens in that timeline, because I warn you what happened to your first child. In this world, when I looked, I found that it was the same story almost, except that it was the ninth time you tried for a child before you sold your soul. Azazel favors you and Alistair tutors you in both worlds.

“In that world, you remember what happened. You remember me. Even as a demon, you remember me and the pain you think I caused you. The pain I did cause you.

“When I come back to the present and you see me again, you remember and you take the first chance you have to gut me and end my life. I don’t blame you.”

Cas was quiet then, contemplating his own hands. He sat for a long moment. The rain had still held off.

“There is no world that I’ve seen where this has a happy ending between you and I. But I wanted you to know that there were worlds where we got to be happy, where we got to be close, and yes, worlds where we got to move some furniture as you’d say. Those worlds were lovely to visit and I know that in every world, I would look for you in some ways. Even if it wasn’t you, I would look for that same thorny beauty and the same annoyed affection and I would briefly fall in love in the most human way as possible. But I am glad that we got this world, and this time, although it was short. I got the right version of you.”

 Cas looked away from the headstone and up to the sky. Up to Heaven, though he could not say why.

“I miss you and I suppose I just wanted you to know that. Goodbye, Meg.”

Cas tried not to think about much of anything as he stood up from the bench and walked away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The use of Kent State and the shooting that took place there in May of 1970 is not meant to disrespect any of the victims of it or any victims of gun violence.


End file.
